


365 Days of Writing-A Personal Challenge

by PFDiva



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cissexism, Death, Depression, Derealization, Dissociation, Dysphoria, F/F, M/M, Misgendering, Multi, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 161
Words: 32,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I will write one piece every day for the entire year.  Please be careful of warnings for each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface and Warnings

Before I begin, I want to let you know some things about this project.

**1\. This project is an attempt to save my own life.**

Ever since becoming accustomed to my new job and my life post-graduation, I've been struck, over and over, with the feeling that there is no more for me to do, this is the most there is, and that there will be no more.  I know better than anyone that if I want to be happy, I have to accept my life as it is, not living in either the future or the past, and I hate the present I am existing in.

So I'm changing it.

By doing this project, I am giving myself focus, a challenge, a goal to work towards, and something to make each day worth living.

**2\. This project will feature a lot of disturbing subject matter, so _please_ be wary of the notes at the beginning of each piece.**

As you can already tell, I deal with suicidal thoughts.  I also live with seasonal depression (It's winter where I am as I begin this), depersonalization as a way of life, PTSD due to my parents' deaths, and periodic derealization.  I don't plan to explicitly talk about any of these subjects in the future, but they WILL affect my thought processes and ways of dealing with the world, and frankly, noone knows what the future may bring, so it might become important to me to discuss one of those topics in the future.

**3\. This project is for me.**

I am a femme DFAB gender neutral person with a vagina who was socialized as a woman, and is generally perceived as a woman, even though my proper pronouns are xe/xir/xirs/xirself rather than she/her/hers/herself.  I'm also a fat black demisexual with a preference for women and femme people of other genders.

Yes, I AM a special snowflake, the specialest you've ever seen, motherfucker.

If that isn't enough, I'm a poor womanist working in solidarity with POCs who aren't black, bisexual, asexual, pansexual, and polyamorous people, trans and intersex people of all gender identities and presentations, physically disabled people, and mentally disabled people.

My identities and platforms inform my experience and will inform my writings.  I may explicitly address some of it, and some of it I won't, because there are other people who can and HAVE said it far better than I ever could.

**4\. This project will feature things that are important to me.**

There will be poetry, prose, fiction, rants, and diatribes on how the government should run, as well as what I'd do if I had the money for it.

What you're getting will be noted in the notes at the beginning of each piece, and possibly in the title as well, so you CAN skip things you aren't interested to see.

**5\. You are allowed to disagree with me.**

I have very strong opinions on anything I have an opinion on.

You don't have to agree with me.

_But I don't have to care about your opinion._

I want you to think my writings are good, but again, this stuff is written for ME.  If you don't like the princess being black, or the princess and the warrior both being women, or you think my fantasies about how the government should work are unfeasible, _I do not give a good goddamn._

At best, I will delete such commentary and move on with my life.  At worst, I will mock you, ruthlessly and enthusiastically.

**6\. I am willing to be called out.**

If I've said or implied something offensive to marginalized groups, I will look into my wording and my premise and see how it can be done better.

I don't know everything, and I want to learn.

(If I've said or implied something offensive to men, cisgendered, heterosexual, or white people, it was on purpose.)

**7\. This work is dedicated to my god and goddess, Hermes and Hestia.**

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If you've read all this and still want to continue, then please do.

I hope to bring you along on this journey with me, but if I lose you along the way, it was nice to have you for the time I did.

Enjoy.


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose

Something I don't think about a lot is that the thing about beginnings is that I can't have a beginning without an end.

An end to a way of life.

A way of thinking.

Living in a certain place or in a certain way.

For that reason and so many more, beginnings are just as terrifying as endings.

Because at least with an ending, I know what I'm leaving behind, what I'm moving from.

With a beginning, I'm not only starting something new, running the risk that what I get isn't what I want, or worse, that it's exactly what I _asked_ for, but not what I **wanted** , or worse yet, that I tried my hardest and utterly failed.

I'm also ending something else.

Something that mattered and was important to me, for a while, at least.

And it's difficult to look at myself, my life, and see how I'm changing.

I don't like thinking about all the ways that I could have been wrong or that I was wrong at all, really.

And changing my way of life, doing things differently, that means that I must have been doing something wrong before?

Or at the very least, that I wasn't doing it RIGHT.

Logically, I know that what's right for me changes and evolves over time, but everything society has taught me is that there are absolute wrongs and absolute rights that are always the same all the time and that relative rights and wrongs don't apply.  Not to ME, anyway.

But there is hope in a new beginning, and that's terrifying, too.

Because it's something to look forward to.

And if it turns out terribly, it's a terrible disappointment.

Frankly, hope is just a frightening thing.

It makes me push on when I would give up, keep going when I'd rather just stop, and sometimes it pans out.

Sometimes it doesn't.

And that's the most terrifying thing about hope, and beginnings.

Not knowing where I'm going, where I'll end up.  I like plotting the path.  I like _knowing_.

And even though I know it's impossible, I still crave that absolute right that is right for ME, that absolute certainty that's meant just for ME.

I want that so badly.

I want that certainty, that awareness, that security.

And it will never happen.

I'm still getting used to that.


	3. The sea, the moon, and the figure on the beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiction about meetings and partings

The sea was a booming rush against the sand, the rolling rustle of moving waves, the breaking crack of them hitting the beach.  The salt air stings your nose and sand crunches under your sandal-clad feet, the cold making you shiver.  You aren't normally the type to wander the beach at night, but you've left your favorite towel, it has your initials on it in lovely blue and green, one of the first indulgences you bought yourself.

Unfortunately, you are rather lost in your search, because you can't quite remember where you were sitting in the warm daylight when faced with cold moonlight.

As you walk, you notice someone laying on the beach, though you can't make out their features, beyond long, dark, zigzaggy curls.

And something wrapped around their legs?

When you get closer, you realize they're looking at your towel, and just as you realize this, they notice you.  In a sudden flurry of movement, they flip themselves onto their back, clutching your towel to their chest, pointing what is definitely a tail at you.

A mermaid?  Or merman?  You're not really sure, but they're beautiful in an androgynous model sort of way and definitely have a tail, with a crescent-shaped fin that they are threatening you with.  Their tail is pale on the inside, dark brown towards the outsides, and where it connects to their torso, which is the same shade of dark brown.

They can't move very fast, and certainly not towards you, but it's pretty clear they're frightened.  And still clutching your towel.

"It's okay-" you try to say, but they hiss and lift their fin higher at you.  It looks, in defiance of all reason and common sense, very sharp, and you don't want to be cut.  You watch as they use their free hand to kind of scoot and shuffle towards the water in a fishlike flopping motion, they don't seem to have any kind of waist.  Their unreasonably long hair occasionally catches their hands and fingers and trips them up, but they eventually make it into the water, staring you down the entire time.

They take your towel with you as they swim off, and though you like that towel, you find that you don't mind so much, because you saw something noone else ever has before.  By the time a week has passed, you've convinced yourself that it was a dream, an interesting fantasy you crafted to cheer yourself up after losing your favorite towel.  You don't think about it much, except as the occasional fantasy with your battery-operated date.

One day, sometime after this, you meet a man.  He has a well-done blowout that frames his face beautifully and wears a flattering blue suit that brings out the shine of his dark skin.  He's also charming, funny, has great taste in movies and television shows, and you adore him.  The biggest problem you have is that the lovely picture of him in the suit on his dating profile is all you've seen of him.  He's not able to take better pictures because of the limits of what tech he has, but he's willing to come out to meet you.

He stands you up.

But you don't mind so much, because you meet a lovely woman at the restaurant.  Her head is shaved smooth, makeup bright and bold against her dark skin, complementing the vivid prints she wears.  Her English is better by text than when spoken, but she has a sparkling wit, great taste in everything, and a great sense of humor.  Even after you leave, you text her long into the night and over the next few days.  When you get back to your attractive guy in the blue suit, it's only to demand an explanation for being stood up with no explanation, because unlike him, you have the ability to check for new messages, even at the restaurant.

You don't buy his apology.  It seems insincere, distracted, and of all things, he offers you his number to call and discuss it in person.  You wouldn't think anything more of it or him, but when you go to message the lady from the restaurant, you notice that her number is the same as his.

You ask her if she planned to make you the other woman.  Is she dating that man?  Are they siblings?  Why do they have the same number?

Her answer isn't satisfactory.

So you go to him with the same questions: Are they dating?  She was at the restaurant, is that why he wasn't?  Are they siblings?  Was he embarrassed to be seen with you?

Your answer comes in a sudden flood of words.

They are bigender, sometimes female, sometimes male, and you arrived earlier than expected, caught her female.  He thought you'd realized who she was, and when he realized you didn't know, she was too embarrassed to say anything.

They go on to say that they were once a merperson, but saw you and were enchanted, though they tried not to be.  They cut off their long, beautiful hair to see you again, giving it as a sacrifice to the spell that allowed them the chance to see you.

They say they kept your towel as a memento to the meeting.

You are stunned.  You don't believe in magic, because you've never known it to exist, but you want to believe, they have never lied to you, and you remember once seeing a beautiful merperson and convincing yourself it was all a dream.

You don't speak to either of them for several days, contemplating all you've learned.  You decide that you like them both, as either gender, and while you don't QUITE believe the merperson story, you are willing to let it stand as is.

When you come to visit, you notice a distinctive towel hanging in the bathroom.  Your initials.  In Lucida Handwriting font and blue and green thread.  You leave it where it is and resolve to have them one made as well.


	4. The Power of Three, Multiplied by Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about the triple goddess, the triple god, and the triple neuter

The children spin

His hands grasped in hers

They laugh together

Joyous sound

Stomping feet

And gasping breath

Maid and youth

Children yet

Now she protects hearth

While he defends home

He keeps danger away

She ensures

There is something

To keep danger from

They spin no more

Not together

Her whirl is a dervish

His a destruction

She repairs the pieces

Of his shattered soul

He covers jagged edges

For forcing a defense

Against her protector

Is too much to ask

Of one who defends

From so much

Mother and warrior

A united front

Divided

As skill and strength allow

He is too weak

To repair her cracks

He can only sand

Damaged edges

Like the weathering of time

Against a mountain front

What she needs she takes

And then demands more

And he gives and he gives

For someone must

Be strong enough

To squeeze their child's

Rightful due

From a world

That would

Try

Deny them

And he knows

Beyond a doubt

It can't be him

His strength abroad

Is weakness here

While her strength is strength

Everywhere

Now they neither

Spin nor defend

Instead they watch their child

Who spins and spins

And spins alone

Joyous laughter of ages past

The stomp of feet

Come to their door

Sage and crone

Know what they see

The dawning of the new child

Whole and complete

Neither youth

Nor maiden be

Yet both in one

For all to see

The new child is bold

The new child is brave

The new child weeps loudly

The new child fights fiercely

Both at home and abroad

And when they return

To hearth and home

Such as they find it

Or as they've made it

They bring gifts of words

They bring gifts of song

They honor the aged

As they pass on

And perhaps

As they progress

Child

Adult

Wizened themselves

They'll grant the gift

Of they road they've passed

For though they are all

Combined in one

They can never truly be either

A crime to some

And as the new child

Becomes the aged one

They remember their past

And the love they've known

The new dances have three

A sight they've never seen

Maid

Youth

Child

All spinning together

To honor everything

In between

They watch with pride

And delight in their heart

Knowing there are more middles

To be found

They are a model

The middle is not wrong

Nor is it a crime

Merely unacknowledged

Forced to the edges

By fears taken on

Unintentionally

Forced on them by others

Who want to claim

They know best

And they spin alone

Once again

To show how it's done

They fight one last battle

With the hearth they've earned

They use what they know

To make it last

They protect their hearth

They're the only one who can

Even though their hearth

Extends beyond their home

They give the trios dancing

Chance to become adults

So they can make space for more middles

With wonderous results

They do not see the new children

And those after that

But they do not need to

In order to know

That those children will be protected

By those whose hearths extend

Far beyond their homes


	5. We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry

The dead of winter

When the earth sleeps.

That is our time.

The height of summer

When the sun seeps.

That is our time.

When flowers grow

And marshes bloom.

That is our time.

When trees all die

Shrouded in gloom.

That is our time.

Our time is now.

Our time is then.

Our time is how.

Our time is when.

You dare to speak

Of things unheard?

Soon you'll see

Your way is absurd.

We dance without you

We stop alone

Our hearts are not true

Though we roam

Far from what you value

Far from what you know

Is the path that suits you

Is the path that glows

No more do we wander

No more do we wonder

The beast is here.

There's nothing to fear.


	6. Submission and Femininity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about power and strength as they relate to masculinity and femininity for me

There is something in me that panics at a woman's submission.

Women are powerful, strong, capable, I know this.

But there is something in me that panics if a woman is not expressing this.

At least, in my stories.  See, I roleplay.  A lot.

It's basically making stories with another person, and I prefer two characters, who I view as basically being the same person, but two different genders.

The woman, I play as strong, fierce, fearsome and just as amazing as she can possibly be. Unless I genderbend her and play her as a man, then I emphasize his more feminine characteristics as they were built into the character.

The man, I play as frightened, insecure, and with a whole host of neurodiverging issues that suit his character. Sometimes I even play him as ftm trans and change pretty much nothing about his personality, because being trans doesn't change the character's personality due to his upbringing, though it sometimes gives him more issues to bring into play in the story. Unless I genderbend him and play him as a woman, then I emphasize her more masculine characteristics, as they were built into the character.

I view these two characters as being very similar, personality-wise, and I like how I think they'd interact, because they've never interacted in the creator's work.

But the thought of playing the woman as a woman and also submissive, gives me panic attacks.

The thought of playing the man as a woman and also submissive, gives me panic attacks.

Notice the common theme here?

I don't like playing submissive women, even though I am a submissive woman.

It feels far too much like giving up my power, like being WEAK.

Because women aren't thought of as inherently strong.

And I can't be WEAK, not in character, even though I know, in real life, that I am weak in a lot of ways.

But I'm also strong in a lot of ways!

I just feel like expressing weakness is a surrender of all my strengths.

It shouldn't, I know this.

It isn't, I know this, too.

I guess that whole strong black woman stereotype got to me more than I thought it did.

Playing a woman character submissive does not negate her strength and power.

Playing a man character dominant does not negate his weakness and vulnerability.

I can temporarily surrender my power and still be respected for my strength.

I don't think I quite believe it all, but I definitely needed to see it in print, written out.

Because power and strength are not the same things.

Power is external, is power OVER.

Strength is internal, is weathering of forces.

I have a lot of strength, and plenty of power, though not as much as I deserve, and knowing that I deserve more power than I have, it makes me wary of giving up the power I DO have.

Well, naming a thing certainly helps in dealing with it, I suppose.


	7. Don't Be Sorry, Be Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant

I was originally going to write this about how being sorry about not being different isn't any good and isn't going to help things because I never really wanted to be things, but all the stuff I wanted to be as a kid?  Or even as an adult?  I STILL want to be all of that!

I still want to be a princess, beautiful and rich with all the fanciest, fluffiest dresses.

I still want to be a singer and spend my days and nights singing.

I still want to be a lawyer and defend people from injustice.

I still want to be a marine, fit in ways most people only dream of, active, and strong, respected and part of a strong group, a unit.

I still want to be a judge, render judgements that are fair and just.

I still want to be president, shape this country and the people in it, as well as how other countries perceive us.

I still want to be a translator, use foreign words to make context of ones I know and understand another culture from the inside out.

I SAY that princesses actually have difficult tasks and being a singer would feel shallow and annoying and law is too much hard work and so on and so forth, but the truth is that I have given up, that I no longer believe I CAN do any of that.

I miss believing I can do things.

Growing up is the slow breaking of your spirit, the contiguous pounding into your soul, "You can't, you can't, you can't, you can't."

And I've taken it to heart.

I don't know how to untake it to heart, how to believe in myself again.

And I think I've given up on trying.

You're not supposed to give up on yourself, in theory.

In theory, you keep fighting and striving and working and doing.

But in practice, it's hard, and exhausting, and you just want to go to bed, rather than have an existential self-discovery.


	8. Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant

I hate responsibilities.

I hate every single stinking one of them.

I hate the ones I have to myself, to make myself feel better, to protect myself, to save myself.

I hate the ones I have to other people, because they deserve it, or I deserve it, or I promised, or because I said so.

I hate the ones to others on behalf of myself, because I like to eat and I like having a place to sleep.

I miss childhood.

I miss college.

I miss knowing what the world is about.

Even if so much else sucked, I didn't have to be responsible for it.


	9. Menstruation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about menstruation

I read somewhere while I was in college, that the ancient Aztecs revered those who gave birth, treated their time and effort the same way those who brought back prisoners of war were treated.

A friend told me that in ancient Rome, the only way to get a headstone for your grave was to die in battle or in childbirth.

I want to reclaim some of that badassery for menstruation.

Because I'm sick of being ashamed of it.

I'm sick of hiding it, of people being grossed out about it.

Why are those of us who menstruate told that something that (generally) happens to us every month is something we should hide?

Why do we discuss only our menstruation in whispered words and secret, clandestine conversations with other folks who menstruate?  (Usually the person teaching us that it's a clandestine secret, the person we're teaching the same to, or our closest, closest friends.)

Why can't we call it the red badge of courage, like the little girl in the Flo commercial?

Why can't it be something we're proud of and celebrate?

Why can't we delight in one of the signs that we are becoming adults?

Why don't we laugh and declare we've got red in our ledger, like the suggestion made on Tumblr for a discreet way to ask for tampons or pads?

Why can't we turn that into a declaration of "I am going to eat all of these things/Am not willing to put up with THOSE people/Can't do this activity"?

We don't we talk about the blood of our enemies washing down the shower drain, and glory in the knowledge that we are victorious, yet again?

Why don't we call it a blood sacrifice for the captive victims we have not yet brought into the world?

Why isn't our menstruation AWESOME?!


	10. An Ode the the Unsung Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poem about a friend

An ode to the unsung hero

You've seen him here before

Last week?  He was here.

Last month?  That was him.

He's got three things planned for the next event

And seven events planned for all next month.

(He's skipping something four and a half months from now,

In favor of something he likes better

But he knows half the people who are going.)

Five different events across five different interests

He's been to every one

It'd be annoying if he wasn't so charming and fun to be around!

He knows everyone and they know him back

So he always knows what's going on

Because they all know if they ask, he will always come

If he's not working on it and it needs to get done

Both will change so fast your head will spin

And he knows everyone, so if he's already working on it:

"If I give you a ride, you'll help, won't you?"

"There's free food and free fun if you put in a few hours."

"I found somebody for your department."

"I found somebody."

"I know somebody."

"I can ask someone."

It's his mantra, his motto, his mode d'emploi

And everyone knows him

So we all forget

He's doing so much at such high speeds

He's helpful

He's useful

If he's doing it, it will get done right.

What he needs is what will get it done.

But what does he do in the downtimes, the lull

Between the end of this event and the beginning of planning for that

Who cares for our hero?

We all care (or we mean to) when all his things go wrong

But he's good at not letting us dwell

"I'll be fine."

"It's alright."

"It could be better, but let's worry about this first."

He hides behind his usefulness

He's very good at that

And sometimes he even says he can't

(Usually because he's already got something planned)

But even a hero needs a break

A shoulder to lean on

Someone to remind them they are important

For who they are as much as what they do.


	11. Black Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose about appearances, very short

His hair is that beautiful coppery brownish-red that real redheads tend to be born with, his nose and shoulders scattered with dark freckles, his skin under those freckles almost the same shade of coppery as his hair, which is a loose, lovely halo of zigzags that she loves to sink her fingers into.

Her eyebrows are as blonde as her elaborate braids, which he cannot touch today for fear of hurting her, but which he will trace his fingers along in three days, learning the curves and angles of what will be her hair for the next month.

They are a lovely couple, the sight of them together, interesting to see, and they are a glory to behold, they are the battle upended, the battle upheld, a battle that shouldn't need happening, but does.


	12. Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about sadness, mentions of dissociation

You know something I never get?

The obsession with "being ok."

I'm not the first to say it, this isn't the first time I've discussed it, and it's not the last time it will be discussed by me or others, but what the fuck.

Seriously.

There is something in our society that will not let a person sit with their sadness, that will not let a person FEEL their sadness.

Sometimes I am just fucking sad, ok?

Let me be sad.

I have terrible dissociation and actually CONNECTING to my emotions is an important, good thing for me.

There are a LOT of things wrong with me.

You SHOULD be worried about me, because /I have fucking problems./

But my sadness?  My emotions?

Not about you.

They are about ME and how /I/ feel.

And I think that's our society's issue with sadness and negative emotions in others.

We are fucking arrogant as hell.

We assume the emotions of others inherently have something to do with us.

When they usually don't.

We can't let the focus be the other person and their emotions.

We can't let people sit with their emotions in our presence, because then /it's not about us./

Fuck that.

I keep saying fuck that, I keep trying to sit with my emotions and let myself feel them and let them HAPPEN, but we you aren't allowed to show your emotions on your face or express them with your words, you might as well not be allowed to fucking feel them at all!


	13. Trio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiction about the lady of the palace and her lovers, featuring polyamory and two trans women in two different generations

When you first see her, you are instantly enthralled.

She is the traveling storyteller, and her stories are magic.

She is the wise witch, and you, the lady down from the castle, are suddenly the brave knight she has endowed with the power to save the damsel in distress, a passing merchant, who is just as confused about her sudden change in role, but like you, plays along.

You fight a dragon, hot breath transforming your hair into a flaming halo of death.

You outwit a troll, at the expense of bruises that will last for days to come.

You navigate swamps and climb mountains, and when you reach the damsel in the tower, you have truly fought for your lady, and she, having tamed an evil wizard to her thrall and outmanuevered a king, negotiating treaties and evading those who think themselves clever enough to end her in her bed, she comes to your side, triumphant, and the witch, who narrated your adventures, declares your victorious and deserving of happily ever after.

It's a terrible shock when the illusionary framework serving as your stories fades away, leaving the merchant in your arms and terribly flustered.

She slowly draws away, she's lost half the day to this story, and as apology, you buy her wares, lovely scarves and shawls that will sit in either hair like yours, a cloud of curls as tall as your head is large, or like hers, long, lovely ropes that clatter against her body as she moves.  You will keep some and give others as gifts, for the craftsmanship is exquisite.

And her body is lovely to look at: rounded arms exposed in deference to the day's heat, plump cheeks flushed coppery with heat and embarrassment and, you hope, interest.  She must extend her arms almost fully to avoid the shawls she shows bunching on her plump belly, and you can't help wonder what the sweat in the creases under it would taste like.

The storyteller is much taller than her, slim in a way her frame does not approve of, her skin yellowing and pale, though her smile is lit from within as she praises both yourself and the merchant for contributing to her story, it was the best she's done in years.

You invite her to your home as an entertainer, and the merchant as a guest, and while the merchant agrees, the storyteller begs off further conversation in favor of food to replenish the energy lost doing so much magic.

You offer to pay for her meal, and quickly learn to regret it, for she consumes more in a single meal than you've seen five grown women eat after helping another through hours of labor and childbirth.

She then again begs off in favor of sleep, but with the promise to visit your home on the hill when she awakens.

The merchant's name is Janelle, and she is amazing.

You help her wheel her wares to the castle that is your home, and the women of your home, as well as men searching out gifts, all love them.

Janelle is witty, sociable, with a biting sense of humor and a sweet fragility you wish to protect.

Neither of you notice the storyteller's absence until the next morning, when you are feeding each other sliced fruit and sweet breads to recover your strength after a night as exciting as your day.

Neither of you minds terribly.

Time passes and soon Janelle must return home, but she visits often, until soon her family and yours have meals together and know each other as well as you and she know one another.  Though you desire children and Janelle craves travel, your days together are as beautiful as your nights, and you learn her with the same diligence and excitement that you learn everything.

When the storyteller returns, she is unexpected and deathly malnourished.

Janelle feeds her, you dig into her circumstances.

You find nothing, though she plumps under Janelle's care, in spite of small, regular shows for Janelle, and sometimes also you.

She has travelled far and wide and is fiercely independent.

She tastes of Janelle when she kisses you, and promises to bring your love back to you soon.

The days without Janelle and Etra are long, slow, and painful, but Janelle returns full of life, and Etra has learned of the ways of others, perhaps it will help.

At first, you cannot keep Etra for more than a few days at a time, interspersed with long months of her absence, sometimes taking Janelle with her.

But she always returns, and the three of you have reunions that last until the sun is high in the sky and you are all sticky with sweat and other fluids.

The time she spends gone dwindle as the years pass, but she's always gone more than she stays.

Things change when she gives you children.  Janelle has long been taking steps to avoid such an event, but not you.

They treat you as delicate and fragile, and you are grateful for Etra's knowledge of foreign ways and Janelle's wit, because between them, they must help you keep your people happy, as you lack the strength to do it alone.

When the child comes, you name them Morgan, and there is a celebration, with food and dancing and drink.

Etra puts on a show for you and Morgan, with Janelle's help, and neither of them hold it against you that you sleep through the end.

Etra stays home more, to help you, to help Janelle and Morgan, and you slowly regain your strength.

By the time you can return to ruling alone, you've no desire to, and Etra's feet itch to take her child to see everything her mother has.

It is with a sad heart that you let Etra and Janelle take Morgan to visit far-off lands, but the glow in them all when they return is worth the sad agonizing and quiet fear.

Morgan spends as much time with youas abroad and grows into a lovely person, with the help of Janelle and Etra, as always, and they all bring you lovely gifts upon return, to commemorate you.

When Morgan finds love in one of those far-off places, you are finally convinced to travel, Janelle keeping things in order for you while you go, and though you find the experience entertaining and stimulating, you are pleased to return home.

Morgan's love is a quiet man with a large family and a bigger heart and though you invite them all into your home, they have lived where they are for centuries and enjoy it.

Morgan enjoys the fact that home is an exotic locale and visits often.

Etra passes first, burning herself out on her magic and enthusiasm for life, and Janelle stops traveling as much.  You try to travel with her, but your heart is not in it, and neither of you does it like Etra did.

Janelle's niece is clever, and you designate the child your heir, taking her under your wing to teach her.

You don't expect to die before Janelle, but she weeps lovely tears onto your face, kissing you passionately as oblivion claims you.

The next time you see Janelle, she is a he and tries to save you a lot, which you like just as much.

Etra makes your trifecta complete, the audience and applauder to your damsel in distress and Janelle's heroics.  Etra is still a she, as are you, though both of you differently so, and you will someday give Etra children, which she craves as you did.

The cycle will continue, hopefully unto eternity, because your heart is two, not one, and exists in those people.

With them, you are happy.


	14. Writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short about writing

Writing: the gift that keeps on giving, especially if you like people hanging from rafters and filter and off the fucking wall.


	15. Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short about motivation.

Motivation: shit's fucking elusive.


	16. Empty Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poem

There is a hole in my soul

Where you cannot see

It bleeds and it aches

It hurts and it burns

I do not want this hole in my soul

But if it stops existing, so do I


	17. Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant

It angers and offends me that in our culture, if someone does something for you, there is an implied debt.

Let's make it explicit.

"I spent $20 making this meal for everyone, and I reasonably expect 4 people to eat it.  If you eat it, I would like $5 dollars, or an equivalent amount of food or favor at some point in the future."

"I am taking you two blocks down the street and only very slightly out of my way, though I find it inconvenient to give you this ride because I don't want to, but I feel bad for you.  For the ride, I would like 4 cents, but for the inconvenience, I would like $3."

I COULD HANDLE THAT!

That's why it's so fucking UNCOMFORTABLE when someone you don't like offers to do something for you, because you don't fucking KNOW what they're going to ask for as compensation, and you don't LIKE them, anyway!

When I do things for other people, I do them with the expectation that my only repayment will be a brief thankyou, and an acknowledgement that I did it.

I would like to assume that others function on the same premise, but I AGONIZE over whether or not that is true, should I be repaying you for this, how much, FUCK that BULLSHIT!

Why can't people make more sense?


	18. None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sentence about my life.

Everything hurts.


	19. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose with warnings for suicidal thoughts and possibly suicidal actions? IDEFK

She stands on the brink, arms outstretched, darkness before her, darkness behind.  She is ready.

She tips over the edge, and the darkness continues, on and on, before her, behind her, above her, below her.  Endless.

The cold air rushes past her face, ruffling her clothes, rattling her skin and she closes her eyes against it.  She is so, so tired.

She falls for a small eternity, or maybe a large one, soothed by the darkness and the cool breeze and the pure peace of it all.  She's been ready for so long.

Eventually, her soothing darkness is broken by the bright whiteness.

She doesn't want it.

She doesn't need it.

It won't go away.

Her wings finally catch and she soars into the light with resentment in her heart.

It was peaceful and now it is not.


	20. The Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about life as it is

You are too old for this and I am too young

We both have reasons this shouldn't be happening

Life shouldn't be like this

Things should be different

Better

More

But they are not

This is the hand we've been dealt

This is the life we lead

No matter what we want

What we wish

What we hope could be

And though I would take it

All away if I could

I can't

I'm tired

I must help myself first

I pity you

Envy you your departure

Your hope

Your road out of this mess

But your road is not mine

And mine is not yours

They must be walked separately

By each woman alone

And while I pity your sleepless nights

I must have pity for my own helpless tears

Fare thee well friend

May the day find you home

And mayhaps someday

I'll find mine as well.


	21. Ferocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name is so much more impressive than what i wrote

Women are fierce, and that should be respected and honored.


	22. Floating On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry/Prose, warnings for depression, derealization, suicidal thoughts

I hate being overstimulated

I hate my mind flying farther and faster than my body can keep up

To the point my body just gives up and doesnt even try

While my mind flies off into oblivion

Independant of me

My wants

My needs

My any indication of caring, wanting, anything

Fuck this

I hate the need to stare at something

Repetitive and monotonous

So that while my mind is busy fucking off

My body doesn't suffer for it

I hate the way the void opens up

Not because I hate the void

But because I can never access it when I want it

When I need it

When I could fucking use a little inner peace and quiet

I hate the floating balloon feeling

Like I'm not really real

Like I'm not really here

Like I really could float away and be free

Not because I don't want that feeling

But because it's not true

I'm stuck

Trapped

This is my eternity

My life

I don't want it

But I haven't got

An-

Y-

Thing

Left


	23. Perchance to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one where the name is more impressive than the content.

Sleep is wonderful, but alsoa highly-underrated goddess of miracles and, well, sleep.


	24. Whatif aliens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stream of consciousness about aliens

I think this will be the story about the telepathic aliens who think humans are just plain fucking cool.

They don't want to destroy us.

They don't want to enslave us.

They just met a black lady, and they're telepathic, so they saw into her head, saw her creativity, her zest for life, her determination, and they thought she was really fucking COOL.

And she thought they were cool back, these weird blobby little alien folks that change color based on their mood and think things like ants and germs are deadly, because they are, to the aliens.

They kind of regard humans as space orcs, but really intelligent ones, because our bite can be lethal to one another, and we stomp or eat ants and the germs they were so afraid of came out of our bodies, and all kinds of really cool stuff.

Well, it WAS gonna be that story.

And then I kind of gave up.

Because I want to make a really lush, sprawling story, evoke the feel of our society from the perspective of an alien society, show the strangeness of communicating with a species that has no words and uses only images and feelings to communicate.

The weirdness of a hivemind society connecting with your mind and briefly learning what it's like to be an individual.

Or a species where "Talk to me, but don't TOUCH me" can't make sense, because they can only communicate when in physical contact.

What about a species of quadrupeds?  What would their spaceships and tools and bed look like?  How would they make them?  What about their clothing, what does that look like, and how is it made?

Similarly, what do the homes and ships of sapient blobs look like?  How do their prisons function, how do folks get in and out?

These are the things I think about when it comes to alien species.


	25. Flirting Doesn't Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about flirting and how it doesn't work

Flirting.  Doesn't.  Work!

And I'm angry about it!

Not because flirting doesn't actually work, although that's annoying as well, but more because noone ever fucking TOLD me that flirting just doesn't fucking work!

They somehow MAGICALLY expected high school me to know that making googly eyes and spreading about vague comments was not a way to get who and what I wanted!

And if vague, non-aggressive stuff like that doesn't work, WHY should I, at all, be expected to trust that MORE aggressive methods would work?

The vague stuff is what works, RIGHT?

The non-aggressive stuff is how you DO it, RIGHT?

WRONG!!

Because if you politely walk up to someone and say, "I think you're interesting because of [insert reason here] and I'd like to get to know you better.  Would you like to go on a date?" you're gonna be doing pretty WELL!

Of course, doing this also demands that, if they say no, you can nod, thank them for speaking with you and LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE!  (Guys hitting on women tend to fall down on this, and this is why you don't get direct nos.  You SCARE us by trying to make our no's into yeses and just refusing to back off after you've already been VERY CLEARLY rejected.  Gals suddenly like you better when you get a girlfriend because you suddenly know how to recognize when the conversation has ended and when to find someone ELSE to talk to.)

ALSO, if you don't have a REASON for wanting to ask them out: "I like you as a person after getting to know you for this period," "You did or said a thing that really caught my attention," then it's probably not going to work out well.  This is why a lot of club/bar dating, and even dating sites don't WORK, because you don't know each other, you don't really have time to get to know each other, unless you fall into a really awesome conversation, and everyone is out with the intention of not really being THEMSELVES, anyway.

So tl;dr: Flirting doesn't work, just be direct, know how to take a no, and ask people out because something about them BESIDES what they look like interested you. (If you don't have anything other than what they look like, WHY ARE YOU ASKING THEM OUT, ANYWAY?)


	26. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose inspired by Imagine Dragons' Radioactive and my own pervert brain.

You notice it swelling from within you, deep in your bones, like a rumbling in your soul.

It tears you out of your bed and you stick your feet into the nearest pair of shoes before running out the front door, inexplicably drawn, unaware of where you're going and why, only knowing that you must go.

You pound down the street, running as though your life depends on it, and it very well might, when you see it and are transfixed.

You know not what it is, why it's there, but you see the light as it opens.

And you awaken in your bed, on the tail end of the most bizarre dream you've ever had.

You can't remember who was in it, what was involved, but it leaves you confused and vaguely aroused, in the way that dreams are prone to do.

You consider masturbation, but that involves more effort than you want to devote, much like getting up and indulging the urge to visit the toilet.

You can hold it and you've got no work today, so you roll over to go back to sleep, resolving to move when your bladder forces you into motion.


	27. Song of Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More prose from my perverted little brain.

His voice is crisp and clear when he speaks: yes, ma'am, no, ma'am, distinct, vivid answers that spark her imagination.

He holds himself tall, shoulders squared, chin lifted, proud of himself, even on his knees at her feet.

Ah, yes, this is what she was looking for, what she was searching out, that lovely pride, confident and strong as he awaits her orders.

She has already proven herself worthy of holding his (metaphorical) reigns, worthy of his obedience, and he proves himself worthy of her with every time he obeys her command.

He is lovely, her darling, and she will use him well, leaving him panting and messy on the floor, in her bed, on a conveniently comfortable chair while she grabs a washrag, a paper towel, one of his shirts to clean him up.

Then she will curl up with him, revel in the sensation of his skin against hers, giggle with him about shared interests, enjoy him with her.


	28. And Now A Word From Our Sponsors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant/prose about how fucking miserable I am

They talk of revolution, of doing what needs to be done, getting everything done, right, perfect, being strong and fierce and principled and dedicated.

And they leave us behind.

Us who can't afford right and perfect and strength and ferocity and principles and dedication.

Us who need to keep this job if we want to eat, and we do.

Us who have to walk and take the bus and slog through cold and rain and misery.

Us who get sick alone and suffer in silence, not because we lack the ability to speak, but because everyone around us is too miserable to hear.

Leave us be.

That is all we want.

Leave us be.

Let us have quiet, have food, have warmth and comfort and silence, blessed silence.

Just leave us alone.

Stop hurting us.

Please.

We are already on our faces in the dirt.

There is no lower we can prostrate ourselves to beg.

And yet you dare yell at US when you trip over our prone bodies?

Passion gives way to necessity, which creates hopelessness and misery.

We need a light.

Just a little one.

Something to reach for, reach towards.

Anything.


	29. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about white privilege and me being bitter. It was supposed to be about doing this on the daily at first, I SWEAR.

A promise is a promise

No matter how it goes

A promise is a promise

No matter how it grows

I write for love

I write for life

I write for hate

I write for spite

I write because what I want

I write because what I love

Can't be found in what I read

Like a sparrow to dove

Women who save the world

Women who are knights

Women who fight for themselves

Women who fight for right

Black heroines who are loved

Cherished and admired

Black heroines who are princesses

Trapped in spires

Though my heart lay in fantasy

In worlds yet unseen

I never see myself

In the pages between

Am I not worthy?

Am I not strong?

Am I not beautiful?

Am I so wrong?

I want the unthinkable

I want it more and more

A lesbian knight saving her black princess

Perhaps by a seashore

There is no moral to this tale

No happy after all

Just pain and hurt and want

Bruises of the fall

I want to say so much

Fight with all my might

You will not reduce me so

I won't suffer this plight!

But I am tired now

And disappointed in myself besides

I should have avoided the woes

That nightly, my soul rides

I should have been stronger

I should have been better

I should have know more

I should have fought together

With whom, I can't say

Just someone that's not here

Because in their absence

I can blame myself for my fear

Fear of home

Fear of roam

Fear of health

Fear of wealth

I don't fear these things

I just can't get them

The glass overhead

Covered in men who go ahem

White asses overhead

All the livelong day

Forgive me if once in a while

I dare to look away.


	30. Sern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose and experimental writing style. I may revisit this.

The temple is a small, squat affair in the center of the village, punctuated by the enormous tree that grows from the courtyard it surrounds.

The courtyard is never empty.

Desperate parents, their ribbons tied to the many branches of the lush tree, continuously surround it, their prayers fertilizing it, and the strange fruit that grows from it.

The priest's only  duty is to ensure the parents are comforted, fed, and reminded to return home for sleep.

Xe does it very well.

Two mixed-gender couples and a female couple come to ask advice on how to raise their newly-grown child.

When xe wonders what happened to the male triad, xe decides they must still be exhausted from the final burst of energy needed to cause the child to bloom.

From xir room, late at night, xe can see the faint glimmer of divine light that surrounds the tree, fed by the prayers of the parents surrounding it.

The children, of course, frequently come to the temple to observe femininity and masculinity, to determine what they like best, what they will choose when they have a choice.

Some wear the flowers they were born from, others the clothing of the work they do with their parents.

Some wear nothing at all in the tropical heat, following their elders' examples and allowing them the chance to discreetly observe anatomy that might otherwise be hidden by clothing.

As they grow and age, the children are led to the back of the temple, where their own peaking power and Casern's will allow them the chance to try on a gender for a year.

Some know what gender they will be when they reach adulthood and only try one.

Most try three or four.

One child tries no gender.

From the first time they are offered the option at 13 until the last at 21, they simply  give the priest a faint, fond little smile and refuse a gender.

Xe finally understands when xe finds the child in their room, slowly riffling about in xir things.

"Hold old are you?"

"Older than you can imagine."

The youth's eyes flash bright and the priest falls on xir face, humbled and honored.

"I am ready whenever you shall take me, holy one."

"I know you are. But you have much work ahead of you."

The genderless young gives a slow twirl, "And I have much to learn yet."


	31. Elyia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose about the City of Elyia

The Eastern Subcity knows she is small, not really a place of her own, but her inhabitants love her, they cherish her, and she can be content with that.

When /he/ comes, everything changes, and the Eastern Subcity is not sure she likes it.  He takes her around to the other Subcities, and they become more her than she becomes them.

Soon, she is the Outskirts, and she looks different, she feels different, she is different.

They wage a great war, those within her, and those within the City, and both can only watch those who love them damaging each other.

Finally, she rests.

In the dark of the night, the City comes to her, weakened and battered and bruised, barely able to make the journey, but it must.

By morning, she is Elyia, a new city with new hopes, dreams and ideals.

Over the centuries, she changes and grows, she becomes strong, but loses her speed, she gets fat and happy, with none of the decaying rot that plagued the City.

She is a good city, and her people love her.

And that is all that matters.


	32. People Assume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDEFK about people

It's interesting what people assume if you don't give them enough details.

It's interesting what people assume if you give them too many details.

It's interesting what people assume.


	33. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about being alone

Spinning sparkling

Diving, writhing

Life exists and moves and breathes

And you

Little speck

Careless on the breeze

You are fearsome and feared

Passionate and impassioned

The world over

And completely alone

Not the lonely of one who yearns

Not the fearful of the one who burns

Not the safe, sad, pitying alone

But the true alone

Powerful

Fearsome

A unit unto yourself

Cut off from the rest

Dependant as necessary

But with no illusions of being part of a greater whole

For what is the greater whole

But a messy mass of

Sadness

Fear

Desperation

Anxiety

And all the things that cling to one another in the desperate darkness at the end of the universe?


	34. On Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about reading books and growing up

I think the internet ruined my life.

And not in the ways people would think: identity theft and nasty commenters on youtube and the like.

When I was in middle school and elementary school, I read.

That was pretty much everything I did with every day.

And a book is a pretty simple thing, it's finished, the author is remote, and love it or hate it, the end is what it is.

Books never made me hope for human contact or connection or anything along those lines.

It didn't fool me into thinking I was part of a larger whole.

It just was what it was.

The internet......fucked that up for me.

It introduced me to the world and a lot of concepts I never wanted to know I already knew.

It made my world bigger and bigger, so that I could worry about more and more people, stressing me out more and more.

There is something to be said for the close intimacy of lying in bed with a book: on an ereader, on your phone, or a physical book.

There is something in there that is important to me and fundamental to who I am.

I think I have lost sight of the core of me.

I probably never knew.

But dammit, books are easier.


	35. Bygones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, sleep-deprived rant about the past.

The past is a funny place to be.  It can be so much better, nicer, neater, more pleasant than the future is.  You can pretend the past was so much nicer than it was.  Noone dies or leaves you, unless you don't want their company, in which case they were never there in the first place.

In the past, my mother is alive, and I can talk to her, get her approval, her affection, her love, all the things I was largely denied when she lived,


	36. Outline of unnamed story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what it says on the tin: an outline of a story I've been aching to write for years, finally mapped out from beginning to end.

Jaina's childhood

Friends with the gods

"We can't find Casern, xe's missing!"

Becoming an adult

Fighting for the gods

Rise of Jettas of families, death, and justice

The Lyejl go underground

Elyia, the dream city

Rise of Runal of generosity, farming, animals, and commerce

Mage husband

First miscarriage

Firstborn child

Kidnapped

The search

Insanity

Bringing hubby home

Finally found

Bringing baby home

Adjustment

Daughter's teenaged years

Daughter leaves Elyia

Husband dies

Daughter dies

Gifts from the gods

Rise of Yorn of writing, art, music, general learning, and all creative endeavors

Personal stories

Rise of Clio of magical, sciences, technological pursuits, and children

Family trees

Various kingdoms rise

Hounding of Sheras

Scolding by Jaina

Rise of Sheras

A new war, but neutered

Democracy, or something like it

More family trees and personal histories

The child of the king of the democracy

The mother called Sheras

Theft of the artifacts of power

The modern woman

Investigation

Differently magical

The voice

The prince kidnapped

Revelation of a family reunited

The monster from between the dimensions

The decision

Farewell to the modern woman and the prince

Understanding

Life after the modern woman


	37. Thoughts on doing what's right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Prose-y, I guess?

If you do it for a good reason, you'll do it for a bad reason.

I thought about this statement for a long time, and the truth of the matter is that it means that there is no excusing bad behavior, that "Just once" turns into "Well, I did it before" and "It's never bothered/hurt anyone," ad infinitum until you are no longer the person you thought you were anymore.

In reality, in real life, we all do this with small, simple things we don't care about.  No shower today, slacking on writing, things of that nature, but I think that as long as you think about, acknowledge, and are generally aware of the things you are putting off, it doesn't forgive or excuse it, but it keeps you mindful of the reasons you do it, so that you can identify what's a good reason and what's a bad one.


	38. On Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about my strength versus that of some men

I volunteered at an event last weekend and this required moving around 40 folding chairs up and down stairs, to and from cars and the like, and I realized something that really hurt my pride: I am not as strong as a man.  There was one guy at the beginning at first, and he was moving three chairs at a time, with apparent ease, and I struggled with that many chairs, it was just too much for me.

After the event, another guy was moving four chairs at a time, two in each hand.  No stairs were involved, but it was still a thing he was doing, and later, when I was trying to move a lot of chairs, I suddenly realized that I couldn't do it.  One chair in each hand, two chairs total, up and down the stairs.

And that hurt my pride.

Because I'm a fat chick, but I'm also strong, and I've always prided myself on being physically strong.  I have the ability to defend myself if I need to.  That is important to me.

And these men were stronger than me.

That was frightening.

That was damaging to my pride.

And also moving the chairs took longer.


	39. On Sleep or the Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing about my weekends.

When you can hear yourself snoring is generally the time for the party to end, but that's when I want it to begin, that small, soft time just for me, hidden from all others.


	40. Perfection, NOT Described

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a great end to my day. :3

Some things are good.

Others are perfect.


	41. At the End of Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short poem/prose about having no fucking ideas.

At the end of inspiration is what?

A medal?

A finished work?

Usually just despair

Disappointment

A faint sense of self-loathing

The knowledge that you can do better

Should have done better

Been more

As well as the realization

That you've given your all


	42. Fucking BOSS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just me, all excited about plans and stuff

No matter how well you know your craft, you can always be honed, always ask for advice, always get a new tip.

A friend ofmine suggested I set up the story that's been buzzing around my head as a visual novel/video game, and I think she's right.

I tried my hand at it before, but I didn't know how the story was going to go, didn't have the plotand characters settled, but now I do.

And this is going to be fucking BOSS.


	43. Because of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short prose

It's so easy to get swept up in you.

To get distracted by you.

To lose myself in you.

To forget everything I wanted to do.

To neglect all I wanted to do.

Because of you.

And how wonderful you are.


	44. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short prose/rant about nothing much

I'm always so tired and worn out, and I really only have myself to blame, but fuck everything.

At least I walked to work in a sunrise.

The sun was out when I walked home.

Spring is coming.

Thank god.


	45. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose/poetry about waiting

I spend so much of my time waiting.

Waiting for work to end.

Waiting for inspiration.

Waiting for the right moment, the right idea, the right LIFE.

I don't know how to stop.

I swear I would if I could.

But every time I get the chance?

I just wait for it to be the perfect right moment.

It feels like everything is passing me by.

But it's not, because there is nothing to pass me by.

Just me.

Alone.

Confused.

Miserable.

Waiting.


	46. Everything Gets Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDEFK

When you've turned yourself inside out, done the wrong thing too many times, it gets hard.  Just everything gets hard.


	47. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little prose piece of distractions

Distractions can be good, fun, nice, but there comes a limit, there comes a  time, when you must stop letting them consume you so that you can live more authentically, more true to yourself.

I'm so tired of the distraction, but it keeps me from extending myself into the potential danger of hope and working for the things I want.


	48. Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short something or another

The place where my darkness meets your light will be

The explosion will rock the foundations

Of everything they thought they wanted to know

And you and I

In the epicenter of it all

We will be.


	49. Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few short sentences, warning about depressive themes

I don't know where I end anymore.  Where I end and the pain begins.  Can you tell me?  Do you know?  Do you even.  Care?


	50. Procrastination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor rant at myself

I keep skipping days.  This isn't good for me or for my writing, even if I keep coming back and rewriting and remaking and undoing and covering it up, I said I would write one thing every day, something to focus me or entertain me or just to rant, because sometimes you need a good rant, and I haven't been doing this.  I know exactly why, but I don't want to let go of the distraction.  It's nice, for a bit, to lose myself in someone else's world.

I'll do better.

I accomplished something.


	51. The Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to write this for a while, and I just haven't gotten to it until now.
> 
> A lot of people don't understand what depression for like, and it varies from person to person. The Hyperbole and a Half person described it as having dead goldfish that noone would acknowledge as being dead.
> 
> This has not been my experience.
> 
> And maybe what I experience is something other than depression, but I'd like to invite you into a day in my mind.
> 
> Trigger warnings for depression, suicidal ideations, depressing shit, and extended metaphors.

I want you to imagine, for starters, that it is completely dark, and you are completely naked.

No shoes.

No clothing.

Not even a hat.

Now, I want you to imagine that it is hot and humid and _sticky_ , like the worst days of summer when your skin sticks to itself, and even taking a cold shower is only a minute's reprieve before you are once again soaked to the core with your own sweat.

Now, to add to the oppresively sticky heat and your own nudity, the ground under your bare feet is made of lots of little rocks, the kind that are small to medium and just awkward and uncomfortable enough that no matter how you place your foot, something sharp enough to hurt, but too dull to cut, will be digging into it.

Every time you move, and you can't stay still, because the whole of your weight is on a series of small, painful little rocks, something scratches you.

Your arms.

Your back.

Your thighs.

Your shoulders.

Your face.

Your butt.

Every time you move.

And when you try to lie down, you realize that the rocks under your feet don't care if there is a wide amount of space or a narrow one, it is going to hurt.

So, here is your situation: it is completely dark, whether you move or remain still you are constantly in pain, you are hot and sticky, and no matter what you do, there is no escape.

And that's where you start.

Now, I want you to imagine, far, far beyond up in the air, so far that you can only just BARELY tell that it's there, a tiny pinprick of light, smaller and duller than even the lights behind your eyes when you squeeze them shut.

So you climb.

And it's hot.

And it's sticky.

And it hurts, even the stone below you.

And every now and again, something breaks off in your hand, sending you sliding and scraping over the rocks in a painful ensemble.

And it's hot.

And it's sticky.

And it hurts.

And you can't really tell if the light is getting closer, but your muscles burn from the ache of climbing, and it's not like you could rest, even if you reached a plateau or something like that, anyway, because the ground is little rocks that are sharp and pointy, and you can't lie DOWN on them.

So you keep climbing.

And it's hot.

And it's sticky.

And it hurts.

And you reach a ledge.

And it's hot.

And it's sticky.

And it hurts.

And you stand on it, the only type of break you can have in this hot, sticky pain.

Suddenly, it breaks.

For a single, weightless moment, there is no pain.

No heat.

No discomfort.

Merely the air rushing back you.

And then you hit.


	52. Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is exactly what you think it is.

The slow, wet slide of moist muscularity entices you closer, in spite of yourself.

And you never looked back.


	53. Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about why I've been neglecting this exercise

I was going to write a poem about fat chicks, dedicate it to my dom, because he's awesome, but then I didn't.  Things have really gotten kind of hectic.  I've established a new BDSM relationship, as well as discovering that I'm going to owe the IRS a lot of money.  That's never happened to me before, and it's terrifying and upsetting, especially since I was anticipating a large refund that I could use to buy all the stuff I want or need.

I haven't been putting as much energy into this as I should be, partially because I don't have the energy, and partially because I really really want to be distracted by my dom pretty much all the time, because guess what?  He was my FRIEND before he was my dom and I like him as a person.

Intriguingly, what's helping me deal with my financial woes is telling myself it's out of my control and there's really nothing I can do but brace for impact and hope for the best.  I'm thinking this works because admitting to myself that there's nothing I can do frees me from the stress of trying to figure out what to do in truly hopeless situations.

The other part is that I'm working on my story game, and I keep having good ideas and better ideas, and I kind of have a lot I'm working with, storywise, so much stuff that I want to fit in, and other story games I want to do that will be shorter and less dense, and it's a lot of things.  *shrugs*


	54. Ode to Fat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose praise of an imaginary lover who is fat and comes with tits and a vagina, pretty not safe for work, so be warned

I love how fat you are.

I love the soft roundness of your face.

I love the creases in your belly, the one at the middle where all your waistbands sit, no matter what you do, and the lower one that doesn't quite go all the way round, but is definitely there.

I love the way your belly hangs over your pubes, just barely concealing the hair there from view.

I love the feel of your arm fat between my fingers, knowing that this sensitive flesh hasn't been touched much, rarely worshipped in the way it deserves.

I love that when you've spread your thighs as wide as they'll go, I must press soft fat out of the way, feel my fingers dig into soft pliancy as I search out the buried treasure of your vag.

I love the grip I can get on your sides and know that my touch is the most terrible tease to sensitive, rarely-touched flesh.

I love the space you take up, in my arms, and in my life.


	55. Grumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what it says on the tin

There is so much I can't control.  Including whether or not I'll take proper care of my physical and mental health on any given day.  I hate that.


	56. Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short poem

Somewhere between nothing is important and everything matters is the crux of you.

Somewhere between nothing matters and everything is important is the crux of you.

Somewhere.

Somewhere here?

Somewhere there.

Somewhere.

There is a hoax that looks like me.


	57. Work Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about work and the annoyance it poses

So, I love various teas and things: iced tea, black tea, white tea, lemon and tea, flavored teas, mostly iced versions of all of these teas.  The problem, now that I'm working, is that if I drink tea, or anything caffeinated, it makes me jittery.  And if I'm jittery, my eyes get too dry, and I feel like I'm going to vibrate out of my skin, which is NOT the pleasantest of feelings.  In fact, it makes me want to cry, because I feel anxious and have too much energy with nowhere to go, and that leads to panic attacks in the office.  Not a good thing.

On the plus side, if I drink some tea before I have to walk to or from work, it gives me an energetic boost that makes the trip less harrowing.

Since I've started working, I also can't eat tomatoes, oranges, or apples a lot, because they're acidic, and the acid, combined with the stress of my job, gives me heartburn.  And that REALLY annoys me, because I really like apples and oranges and also a lot of stuff is made with apples and I CRAVE tomatoes sometimes and it's just really annoying.

tl;dr: Work is stressful and I'm annoyed that certain foods exacerbate that stress on my body.


	58. Flawed Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about stories

So, an interesting tip my friend gave me for writing is to look at the flaws of my characters, really build my characters around those flaws, and though it feels weird, I really like it, and it's already helped me develop some of my characters for my storygame, including my main character.

Because that's my main struggle in original work: Characters.

I can build lush, amazing settings and have a lot of fun with them, but I can't seem to -populate- them, and this has always been an annoyance to me.  Working from my friend's way of doing it, you just start with a character flaw and build a character around that.  You WILL eventually find their good traits in the process of working through their bad ones.

My main character in my storygame, for example, suffers from pretty severe depression, and a mother who is both slightly neglectful and also quite demanding, so that gives me a real  _feeling_ for how the characters are, and I can work with that, from that.

I'm really very pleased about this.


	59. Time With Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about depression, self-care, showering, self-punishment, so be wary

So, as we all know, I suffer from seasonal depression, which means that when winter comes, my life is misery and depression, and since I live in Michigan, that is a SLIGHT problem.

One side effect of depression, or /my/ depression, at least, is that I won't take showers every day.  Maybe twice a week.  Three times if I'm having a plucky week, and four times if I'm having a plucky week and my hair needs to get washed.

Last year, shortly after I graduated, I made a point that I was going to shower every day for 66 days, because I heard that's how long it takes to form a habit.  And it worked for a bit.  And then I moved to a different place with a jackass landlord.  And then I moved again and it was winter and my new home was a halfway house and gross and I didn't want to shower in their shower and it just threw me off and I never recovered.

Something I've decided I wanted to try is getting up absurdly early, so that I have time to shower, dick around on the internet, and do all of that BEFORE work, because I know when I get to work, I can just continue whatever I was doing before I left home, because my work computer has internet access, whoo.

But more importantly than that, it occurred to me that I avoid taking showers because I want to avoid spending time with myself.

Because that is a shower for me: spending time with myself, enjoying my own company.

And I avoid showers when I want to avoid spending time with myself.

I'm not sure why I would want to avoid spending time with myself.  Maybe as a punishment?  I have long suspected that not showering was a personal way of self-punishment and/or a way to push away people I don't want to deal with.

I like showers, I just...I like showers.  I like giving my mind time to slow down and process, and maybe that's part of why I avoid showers, because I don't want to slow down, I don't want to process, I want to be distracted and all that.

It's a possibility.

The plus side of showering in the morning is that it starts my day off on a more relaxed note, gives my mind time to trail off into whatever bunny trails it will take.

Let's see how long I manage this one.


	60. The Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about depression and finding friends to help

In the dark of night he comes

A victimizer cloaked in black

To whisper secret sufferings in your ear

And teach you your strengths are what you lack

Every night and every day

You must fight him off, fight him away

And though you try to escape his grasp

You'll soon again feel his painful wrath

But you keep fighting and working

You've no better choice

Because if you surrender and fall

You'll leave others alone with his voice

But there are others

Few and far between

You only know some

By the sounds of their screams

You find each other

By effort and careful planning

You flee when he drops into the middle

Disrupting your cautious scanning

But you try and try and try

And then you try again

And before you know what's happened

You've made yourself a friend

And together you both fight

Sometimes together you fall

But when they are strong and you are weak

They'll often answer your call

For help and support

A little bit of praise

Someone who knows the fight

And how difficult the malaise

You are never permanently victorious

There is no such thing as ultimate win

But every once in a while

You feel purged clean of all sin


	61. Pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry, but IDEFK

I have no mouth but I must scream

In the spring time of the year

All the things I learned to fear

Have come to visit by my gate

And teach me all they know of hate


	62. Incomplete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm....not sure what this is. Just read it.

I feel like I feel a lot

Feel things

Incomplete

Night Vale is clever


	63. Love's Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poem commissioned by winners at a raffle

A song once asked  
How do you measure a year?  
A silly question  
With an obvious answer  
Eight hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes  
Minutes, hours, weeks, days  
In his soft looks  
In her kind ways  
The caress of an angel's wing  
Lightning in a kiss  
They meant to ask  
Or so I think  
How do you quantify  
What you experience in a year?  
The short answer:  
You don't  
The long answer:  
Why would you want to?  
A year holds a sunrise  
An embrace like home  
Music to soothe two souls  
Fated for love  
A year holds pain and struggle  
Triumph and tragedy  
Small arguments soon forgotten  
Large ones that change the face of love  
Most importantly  
A year holds love  
Destiny made real  
A year holds you  
A year holds me  
A year holds the future  
We've yet to see


	64. Already Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about the fact that my writing is already where I want it to be

So, I was reading over some of the older entries from this blog, and I was stunned by how GOOD they were!

My poetry, even one of my stories I formerly thought was trying too hard, they moved me to TEARS.

And while I certainly won't deny that being on the rag contributed to the tears, it didn't make my work any less MOVING.

I probably just wouldn't have been in tears while being moved.  Maybe.

But anyway, it's just really shocking to realize that I am already as good of a writer as I want to be.  I don't have to practice anymore.  I can just WRITE.  I can give myself permission to write and have fun and make a story and really ENJOY it.  AND, now that I have a way that makes sense to me for making interesting characters, I can work on that.  Or not, my writing is poignant and affecting already.

I can do what I want, writing-wise.

The knowledge is both freeing and terrifying, because now that I realize I'm good enough, I have no more excuses to hold myself back.  And I've gotten So Good at holding myself back, I'm not sure I know how to set myself free.

I guess I'll find out, won't I?  :D


	65. Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

Is it normal to feel traumatized anew every time you have a period?  I feel like it's not, but every time my period comes along, especially when I have to see or think about or deal with chunks, I feel traumatized and horrified anew.

Maybe it's dysphoria?

I don't know.

Sigh, I was planning on working on my story, which I've adjusted so that it works better, but I was dragging ass this morning and I had to comb out my hair and I just don't know if I'll have time...we'll see.


	66. Love's Anniversary Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I gave them the option to have a different version. They took it. Without telling me what was wrong with the first. They can suck eggs if they don't like this one. Hell, it even RHYMES.

In the past year, there's so much I've learned  
Little lessons which came to me from you  
Every single bit of the knowledge I've earned  
I know is something of value and so true  
This past year, there's so much we've gone through  
A wonder I'd want going no other way  
Every day I see you, I discover you anew  
And every night I'm with you takes my breath away  
For you are the beauty, the light and the way  
All the goodness I know in the world  
Your strength and your warmth power my day  
With you, I feel my soul uncurl  
I'm so blessed to be with you, that I know  
I'll be by your side forever, wherever you go


	67. Balancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

Yesterday, just for a bit, I felt fearless.  Not invincible or anything like that, but just like everything I had ever feared was so far below me as to be indistinguishable.

But I wasn't afraid.

I just felt like there was a bubble with a ball inside it, balancing in my chest.

When I try, I can reclaim that feeling, I think, that ball-in-a-bubble feeling, make it balance in my chest.

It feels so nice, like I can actually think clearly for once.

Like I can live.


	68. That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short poem

I

Have no idea

Who I want to be

What I want from life

What would make me comfortable

But

I know

I don't want **that**.


	69. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose

Some stories are short, limited engagements meant only for the nearest and dearest.  Others are overarching themes of death and love that can be rewritten and reheard, time and time again.

Both have their place.


	70. Time, or Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style? Prose? IDEFK? Short.

If there were enough time in the day to accomplish everything you WANTED to accomplish, you would get bored, and maybe you wouldn't want to do the things that you so desire to do now.

But that might just be me.


	71. On Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short blog-style post. I think. Possibly prose.

Sometimes, you try your hardest, and you do your best, and it's not good enough.  At that point, all you can do is look at what you've done and try to figure out what went wrong so that you can do it better next time.


	72. Daily Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm doing this new thing where I frame my fights with depression like a video game or tabletop game fight, and, at the very least, it amuses me. It's also a subtle way of talking about my day and the struggles I faced, as well as the good things that happened. A lot of good things happened yesterday, so whoo.

Depression used enemies: Unhelpful Help!

PFDiva defeated Unhelpful Help!

PFDiva used buffer: Good Book!

PFDiva gained status effect: Sense of Peace!

PFDiva and FB Friend Who Gets It used buffer: "Oh, fuck all of this."!

PFDiva gained status effect: Fistbump!

PFDiva used buffer: Big Dinner!

PFDiva gained status effect: Well Nourished!

Depression used poison: Need For Validation!

PFDiva gained status effect: Sleep Deprivation!

PFDiva used defense: Self-Awareness!

PFDiva used defense: "Let's put this on hold for tonight."

PFDiva gained status effect: Something To Look Forward To Tomorrow!

PFDiva battled Depression for prize: Morning Shower!

Depression used weapon: Sleep Deprivation!

PFDiva countered with weapon: Extra Time!

PFDiva used weapon: Fuck You!

Status effect: Sleep Deprivation!

Unexpected Nap gave Depression weapon: Frustration!

Depression used weapon: Frustration!

Status effect: Well Nourished!

Status effect: Something To Look Forward To Tomorrow!

PFDiva stole weapon: Frustration!

PFDiva fused weapon Fuck You with weapon Frustration!

PFDiva created weapon: Not Stopping Me!

PFDiva defeated Depression!

PFDiva obtained prize: Morning Shower!

PFDiva used secret reward: Pink!

 


	73. Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

I don't have to put every aspect of my life in one place, I can divide it up amongst the audiences I want to see it.

Or rather, I can put things about people in places I don't think they'll see it.

Sigh.

I feel emptied out, but in a good way, after my argument with Ruby yesterday.  I think I got through to him.

And it's weird, my mind keeps wanting to address him incorrectly, and I knew him before, so I guess it's not that weird, but I'm always careful to affirm him when I'm talking to him and things and stuff and ness.


	74. Fear or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short blog-style post

It's always depressing and distressing when your motivation goes flying out the window.  Fuck that.


	75. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short blog-style post about my hair today

Ohgod.

I found a really cute, really simple hairstyle that I really wanted to try.

Only my hair wasn't properly stretched out and eek eek eek.

I've put a scarf on it, and now I'll just pray it smooths out and looks decent.

Eek.

Eeek.

Eeeek.


	76. Internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short blog-style post

I miss having steady, stable internet, but not for reasons that can be covered in one sitting, things like watching tv shows and downloading stuff, things I know are luxuries, and I should be grateful to have an internet connection at all, but it just makes my life so much more tedious and boring.  Deepest sigh.


	77. Failure?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short prose

The fastest way to fail is to never try

But not trying has the benefit of not being painful


	78. Narrative of Victimhood?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about self-sabotage

There is something in me that gets well and truly terrified when things are going well for me, when I am happy and mentally healthy and when I can do simple things to make my life run more smoothly.

I know that I sabotage myself at almost every turn.

Maybe Ruby was right.

Maybe I am caught in a narrative of victimhood.

So how do I change that?

How do I empower myself every day?

How do I make being happy and healthy not terrifying?

I don't know, honestly.

I can come up with rhetoric and logic for why it's fine all day long, but that won't change my feelings.

I think I basically need more security than I've got.

A backup plan.

Someone to lean on.

But why does my ability to not be afraid of being happy hinge on a backup plan?

And what kind of backup plan can there be for "I am sabotaging my own happiness because I'm afraid if I have too much, someone will notice and take it away"?

Who do I even think would take it away?

I know noone would intentionally do that, and really, the things I could do that would help most are things noone would be paying attention to, things that noone could get to me to change without being REALLY fucking CREEPY.

I'll just ask Ruby to give me some Leto voice clips.


	79. On Narratives and Backtracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

Writing a coherent narrative is difficult and frustrating, because the characters frequently won't go the way you want them to, so you have to backtrack and figure out where you sent them astray, then come forward from there and see where it takes you, and it's a whole lot of fuckery and frustration.  It's lovely when you get to the end and everything has worked out and is finished, but until then?  ARGH!


	80. What I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post, trigger warnings for suicidal ideations, depression, talking about money and expenses, general misery

I was going to write a poem about how I love myself and all my me-ness, because I was talking to a friend about how revolutionary it sometimes is for marginalized people to share our stories, but I don't feel very self-loving right now.

I want to kill myself.

Everything in my life is coming apart at the seams, and it seems like that is the way it will always be.

I don't actually want to kill myself, I guess, I just want to not exist, which isn't the same thing.  I don't want this life, this body, this mind, these challenges and frustrations.

I don't need a million dollars, I just want my student loans to stop being a thing that hounds me.

They cause me so much anxiety and fear.

Student loans, the money I owe the IRS, the constant stress and strain on my body from having to walk everywhere, the fact that home is not a sanctuary.

Sigh, at least I have enough to eat most of the time.

I know what is causing this particular meltdown, though.

I feel malnourished, I don't know what my diet is missing, but I'm hungry, hungry, hungry, and can't seem to fill the void.

I might also be stress eating, but I don't think that's it.

I really just want to curl up and sleep.  I would like to get enough sleep.  And then I want to write stories.  I'm trying to write right now, but I'm so stressed, it only comes out in bits and pieces, half a page at a time.

I'm so miserable.  And I ache.  My body hurts all over, I don't know why anymore.

I don't want to hurt anymore.

I would do anything to make it all go away.

I told a friend once that if the Devil himself came up and promised to take all my misery and suffering away, promised to make my life easy, I'd give him my soul in a heartbeat.

The crux of my problems generally tends to be the fact that I don't have enough money to handle all the expenses I need handled and to replace all the things that are broken.

What do I want?

I want a home that feels like sanctuary.

I want to be able to easily take care of all the bills and expenses that I have.

I want to be happy.

Or at least not this miserable.


	81. Wingless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry about self-love. And self-hatred.

I love myself

The curl of my hair and the curve of my jowls

I love myself

The flap of my arms and the bulge of my belly

I love myself

The round of my hips and the thick of my thighs

I love myself

The color of my skin and the heft of my ass

I love myself

And that is revolutionary

Incendiary

Caring

Apocathery

Turning lead into gold

Has nothing on turning

Hatred to love

Ridicule to rejoyceing

Countless messages

Be thin

Be professional

Hate what you are

It's uncouth

Unclean

Unworthy

You further me

With your hatred

I have one hater today

I need five tomorrow

And I have so many

But I'm strong like that

I spit back the koolaid

Not everyone can

It's difficult

It's terrifying

It's a step out into an unseen void with no net below you

It's forgetting you have wings because everyone has magic you don't

And then you step off the ledge

Plunge into the unknown

Someone screams at you to flap

And you do

You have wings

Wings amongst the wingless

Who have magic that propels them

And they miss the hidden places

Noone screams at them to flap

And you learn how to flap

How to ride the wind

Watching those winged ones

Because what do the wingless know of updrafts and gliding?

Nothing.

And the strain is hard

Your muscles doing unfamiliar work

But it gets easier

When you see aerial acrobatics

Pirouettes and dives

And the wingless could do it

They have magic

It could work

But it is nothing like the exhilaration

Of catching the wind at the last moment

Of using your body to soar higher and farther

And the risk is greater

If your body fails you

You've nothing left

But there are hidden nets

Hidden places

Where somebody bumping along

Because their wings are exhausted and their mind is frayed

Those hidden places are refuge

And in the refuge

The winged gather.


	82. On Rapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about some thoughts I've been having

Words have a rhythm and flow, I'm noticing more and more.  And today, I'm kind of interested in how I might fare as a rapper.  I know a lot of rappers start out when they're younger than me, go different places, blah blah blah, but rap definitely has a rhythm and flow and you have to pay attention for the change in direction that angles it a different way, but at the very least, it's not like it's a PROBLEM for me.

It's probably very hard to be a rapper, especially as a woman, I know Nicki Minaj has made a great success of herself, and Missy Elliot, too, but I guess there's a fear in me that my voice with get lost in the din or be ignored entirely.

I'll never know unless I try, and I've got a few poems that would make for excellent rapping.  No musical background of any kind, but I'm realizing that part of the reason, when you see groups of rappers, that they can do that, is because they make a space in their head where they don't think, where what comes out of their mouth is what's in their head, and they just let it flow.

And it's difficult for me to turn off the thinking and just let the flow happen, I don't even know if I can do it.  I probably won't try, because every time I try things, I keep getting disappointed.  If I'm going to do it, I'll back into it, slowly, peering over my shoulder, and let it happen if it will, because if it must happen, it won't leave me alone.

And I know everyone's always like "Well, make time for it" and "Go out and DO it," and that...I dunno, just doesn't work for me.  When I put effort into things, I put too much effort in at the beginning, hoping for quick results and get discouraged easily.  Bluh.

So I'm going to throw this whole rapper idea out into the ether, let it circle my brain, and if it goes anywhere, if I take it anywhere, great!  If I don't?  *shrugs*  Then I know it was just another phase I was going through.


	83. My Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rap/Poem

My hair

Is curly

Swirly

Whirly

Thick

Click

There goes the whip

Hit

Hair

Comb

Hot

Burns my hair out

Burns my life out

Makes my hair obey

Makes me tame

Lame

Crippled by their choices

Voices

Telling me

My hair's too difficult

Noone understands it

I do

I get it

I hit it

I lit it

Up there it goes

So lovely

Wonderfully

Curling

Whirling

Diverse

Inverse

Obtuse

So loose

You'll never get it

But I love it

It took time

Long a rhyme

A riddle

A middle

How do I

Make it

Take it

Break it

Without breaking me

Work the system

Creamy crack

Calling back

Moisturize

Analyze

Paralyze me

With fear

Hear

This is how we do it

This is how you do it

I want that

Want you

Through

Shoe my senses

Make them work

I found the clerk

Who can show me a new style

So pretty

And witty

I want it

But my hair

There

Where

Clarify

Mendify

Just defy

Because my hair is mine

And I will learn it

Even if noone else will.


	84. Fruity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I ate pears and bananas, along with a normal amount of food  yesterday, and woke up feeling like a decent fucking human being, in spite of going to bed 2 hours late.

They say that correlation does not imply causation, I say fuck that, pears and bananas are an important part of my diet.

That is all.


	85. Fuckit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for depression

Sometimes you try your hardest and still fail.


	86. Another Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depression, hopelessness, and the sheer, unrelenting monotony of depression

"How are you doing today?"

 

****

 

PFDiva battled Depression for prize: Morning Shower!

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: Five More Minutes!

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: At The Half-Hour!

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: On The Hour!

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: Relax Into It!

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: Clear-Headed!

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated!

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated!

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva gained status effect: Helpless Frustration!

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva battled Depression for prize: Before Work Interneting!

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva used technique: Fun!

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva used buffer: Plenty of Time!

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva gained status effect: Helpless Frustration.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva has been defeated.

PFDiva has been defeated.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

PFDiva has surrendered.

Phone used special charm: External Alarm!

External Alarm negated action: Bed Parkour!

PFDiva got ready for work!

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

Depression used no.

 

****

 

"I've been better."


	87. On Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about dreams and monsters

So, I had a dream that a friend of mine who loves animals (and is a lesbian and very much married to some other woman) and I were looking for an apartment together, and we happened to be at this one place called something like Lesbian Dog Park or Lesbian Dog-Walkers or Animal-Trainers, something cutesy that implied there would be a lot of lesbians with cats and dogs.

 

Anyway.

 

I'm in a waiting room with some guy, no idea where my friend is, presumably off taking the tour, definitely with this guy's boyfriend/husband, because they were also considering coming to live in this place.

 

Now, I hug the guy, for whatever reason, and I grab him wrong and accidentally hurt him, dividing myself into two people in the process. This is important.

 

So, the realtor lady comes back, and she's bald and black and wearing this long dress that is this gorgeous shade of dark pink/fuschia that only looks good on really dark women, and she's gonna take me and the other me, and the guy on a tour.

 

So I'm walking next to her, other me is smalltalking at the guy, and the realtor's asking questions. The guy and other me are kind of discussing between them, not really answering, but I am. Except the realtor's only paying attention to other me, who's not saying anything USEFUL.

 

At the door, the realtor asks for my scarf, because I'm the only one with a scarf, and everyone's shoes. In light of what the weather outside turned out to be, I'm not sure why we agreed, but whateves.

 

So we hand over our shoes and my scarf, and she leads us outside, and it's beautiful, and I'm still trying to tell her why I want to live in THIS place. I kept saying "I just want her (my friend) to be happy, I just need a bed, stable internet, and I'm good, I just want HER to be happy."

 

Then the realtor turns the corner, and she suddenly SPRINTS away. You have never SEEN anything until you've seen a woman in an ankle-length dress running like her life depends on it.

 

I run after her, yelling back to the guy and other me, "She's running away!" Other me just kept repeating that, absolutely astonished, but in that who-me way of 'Somebody should be doing something, but I know it's not going to be me.'

 

But I keep following the realtor, when I realize there's glass all over the cleared path, and on the snow surrounding the path, because of course there's snow, and I yell that there's glass, and other me repeats it in that ditzy way, and I can see the realtor cutting around another corner, but where there isn't glass, the snow is super deep, but I guess I parkour around the corner and I find the realtor.

 

Only, she's on the stairs, covered in this crystalline whiteness that looks like communication with heavenly beings, but which /I/ know actually means she's communicating with evil forces and is basically a bad guy and our enemy.

 

So I sneak back around to warn other me and the guy, but the two of them are under assault by the bad guys, who are taking them over with this laser-beam net thing, and everything is effectively DONE.

 

And then I wake up, like "Thank you very much, subconscious, for serving up EVERYTHING I am afraid of in one dream."

 

1\. Being ignored.

2\. People only listening/paying attention to a small part of me that doesn't really represent ME.

3\. Something awesome and wonderful turning out to be horrible and terrible.

4\. Misjudging people as awesome when they're terrible.

5\. People I care about being hurt/endangered while my attention is elsewhere.

6\. ME being hurt/endangered because I couldn't see the signs that there was a danger.

 

So even though I wasn't scared in the dream, thinking about it now that I'm awake is really quite distressing. Also, my friend never made a physical appearance in the dream, so shrug.


	88. Walking Mannerisms!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post about the different ways men and women "typically" walk. Trigger warning for repeated use of the words penis and vagina, as well as for brief discussion of how menstruation feels

I figured out the differences in the ways men and women walk and how to replicate both!

Now, I know this doesn't seem terribly interesting, but I'm genderqueer, and I've always felt a really interesting way to present myself, and to confuse gender cues, would be to dress in a very femme manner and walk in a very masc manner, because I WANT gender cues about me to be VERY confused, because I don't like people assuming and I want them to be forced to ask.

Anyway, I realized that the way men "typically" walk and move is predicated on bodies with penises, and the way women "typically" walk and move is predicated on bodies with vaginas.

Because if a body has a penis, the only muscles in the waist area are ass muscles and, of course, lower belly muscles, all of those.  But additionally, penises, and balls, they dangle, so it would make sense to angle the pelvis so that they aren't getting caught between the thighs.

This is not a problem folks with vaginas. Nothing dangles, so there's no reason to angle the pelvis that way, and additionally, there are all kinds of vaginal muscles that would be unnecessarily tightened and strained by doing so. As if that weren't enough, once menstruation hits, angling the pelvis that way causes that oft-used lower-abdomen muscle to tighten, which can evoke the pains of menstruation, which almost noone with a vagina wants to remind themselves about, for various reasons.

That said, the way to move the way men "typically" do is to clench the asscheeks.  Doing so has multiple effects, it straightens the back, stiffens the knees, opens the thighs, compacts the stomach, which instinctively hunches the shoulders, and most importantly, it stills the hips!

Something that has ALWAYS been a struggle for me, when trying to walk in a masc manner, is that it seems like no matter what I do, my hips seem to sway and shift, even when I don't want them to, and I'm betting it's a problem for a lot of other people with vaginas, especially if they've been socialized as women.

The main thing to note, however, is that this involves clenching all of the vaginal muscles, tightening them very hard, and that lower-abdomen muscle gets squeezed, too, so it really feels like menstruation cramps to me, and was overall unpleasant for me when I held it, but with time strengthening those muscles, it might not be as bad.  It also stretches the lower back, which was actually what I was trying to do at the time, so that wasn't too bad, and, as I said, it causes the knees to stiffen, so walking feels zomebielike and weird.

Based on that information, it seems clear to me that the way someone with a penis could more skillfully move the way women "typically" do is to push out and relax their butt.  After holding both poses, the differences I could feel were that relaxing my butt the way I, as a person with a vagina, usually do, is that it pushes out my chest, rolls back my shoulders, and loosens my knees, which consequently contributes to that hip motion that bothers me when I try to walk masc.

The primary concern I see for people with penises doing this is that their penises and balls might get rubbed or squeezed between their thighs, and if they try to do it sitting down, they are almost guaranteed to sit on themselves, so that's a danger.  It will probably also compact the lower back muscles and stretch the lower abdomen muscles.  And as it loosens the knees, I can definitely see it making walking feel like one is trying to squat and walk at the same time, with a side of jangly bounciness, which means it will work the knees and thighs a bit.

But, now that I have shared the secret in the differences between how men and women "typically" walk, you can go give it a try and see what it feels like.  If you're a person with a penis who tries the butt thing, especially one who was socialized as a man, please comment and let me know how the differences in posture and walking feel, especially if there are any penis/balls issues, because I've got a vag, so I've no idea what kind of effect the added element will have.


	89. Megan's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story using the Japanese idea of a no-conflict story

_This species is so strange and fascinating to us._

_They have no proper means of communication, as their exterior is covered in lethal bacteria.  We must wear protective suits whenever we come to them, and that is unusual and distressing for us._

_Our contact has assured us that decontaminating them externally would be a "creative method of torture."_

_Internally, they are as varied as their entire planet, with billions upon billions of symbiotic lifeforms within them that they are largely unaware of.  Apparently fully decontaminating them would be tantamount to murdering them._

_It doesn't make communications simpler that they have various social strata, based on appearance and proximity to those who speak for them, and a wide variety of things, far too many to understand and deconstruct in just the few years we have been in contact with them._

_Our contact is amused to inform us that they (we have no understanding of how they express gender, as they cannot change their skin color at will) are simultaneously in some of the highest strata of society and the lowest, being "a black NASA pilot who is also a woman with a PH.D in rocket science."_

Megan tapped her thumb on her laptop, deep in thought as she inspected her self-insertion first draft.  Writing about fictional aliens and their fictional perceptions of the people of Earth didn't have quite the appeal it once had, not with actual, real aliens wandering around and integrating into society.

As she lifted her gaze from her computer, one of the quadrupedal aliens came into the cafe she was writing in, bright purple and clearly Earth-born, wearing a rich green blanket-like outfit with brown leather straps to hold it, their hooves shod in simple blue cuffs with a base that caused their steps to ring out, bell-like, as they moved.

She couldn't help but wonder what that youth's parents thought of them.

Megan looked at her story again, then decided she wasn't making any progress on that one today, if at all.

She saved her file, and took a sip of her cocoa as she opened the internet, thinking about how funnily things turned out.


	90. On Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about my relationship with a good friend of mine

I beat depression today.  I took a shower this morning.  And my hair is cute.  And I told my friend I needed to not talk to him for a bit, so I could reclaim myself, but I wonder if maybe I was trying to punish him, or maybe if I was trying to punish myself, but all I know for certain is that my writing suffers when I let them talk to me too much, and I DO want to be a writer, don't I?

I don't know.

I was anxious yesterday, because my landlord and landlady keep talking about the possibility of me moving to another place, but if they're putting me in the place I'm thinking they're putting me, I'm going to be farther from my job AND from the nearest bus line, and even though at first, I was thinking I'd just move somewhere else, I realized that I was basically going to be paying more money in travel to go farther and walk more and it's just really frustrating.

I wish I knew what was going on.  I'm pretty sure everyone does.

If noone is staying with me at this new place by the time my friend is ready to move, I'll tell him to come move in with me, so at least we'll both have our own space and our own independent existences, and it'll be a stepping stone for both of use, not quite living together yet, but close.  Well, for all intents and purposes, we'll be living together.

I guess I'll have to see how we feel about each other once I've kinda gathered myself.  Whenever I feel too strongly about someone, I always want to take a moment to back up, but maybe that's not healthy?  I mean, we already hashed everything out, I just....I know he's not going to change.  He's always going to be like this.  Is our friendship worth fighting through that fact?

I really don't know.


	91. On Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about various things, not any kind of April Fool's joke, because bump that

I decided that I'm definitely going to continue fighting for my friendship with my friend from yesterday.  Because not only is he a boundary-pushing motherfucker, but I am also someone who is bad at maintaining my boundaries with people I like.  I will fall down on things and fail, and so will he, and we'll both grow as a result, and it'll be a glorious blossom of a thing.

Also, I've decided I really like the conflictless plot style, so I'm definitely going to practice that more.  It is definitely more my speed, and with that, I can move forward and grow, utilize all those story generators and the like, because now I know what I'm doing, where I'm going, and I just have to hone my craft.

I think I've really kinda always been doing the conflict-free plot style, but since I didn't know what I was doing, I wasn't doing it properly.  Now I can do better.  Go, me!

Also, my boss has proven...surprisingly awesome.  I had an issue with one of my coworkers over a particularly blatant microaggression, and my work friend, she told me to go to the boss, because I was planning on doing something really big and showy and I probably would have gotten in a lot of trouble, but she told me to go to the boss, and he and I talked yesterday, and he really seemed to be on my side, and...I'm not used to that.  I'm used to pretty much having to go it alone, and if I'd been able to muster my words, I would have told him that I wasn't used to having help, but whatever.  I'd been bracing for him to be very unhelpful, and even though I could tell he kinda didn't get it, he was also really sympathetic and decent, so.


	92. Lady Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an experiment in two directions: story with no conflict and dialogue-only story. I love dialogue, it's my absolute favorite thing. Anyway, I'm probably going to use this as the framework for my larger story I've been working on for a while. I might shift it about to be more chronological, but I might not. I like achronological stuff, too, so we'll see.

"Lady, is that your lover?"

"Birdie, you dum-dum, don't you know **anything**?"

"Keshia, that is more than enough.  Yes, Birdie, that is my lover."

"She's beautiful...."

"She is, isn't she?"

"How did you meet?"

"We were children, Dominique and I, when we first met.  Like sisters.  But more than that.  Most definitely more.  We shared a half-mother, Tenisha.  She was my mother's only lover, and the wife Dominique's father lived with."

"You had a mother, Lady?"

"Of course I did, Keshia.  Everyone does.  A father, too....lovers, a husband..."

"Only one?"

"Birdie!"

"Yes, dear.  Only one.  After what happened with our daughter, I was too distraught to take another husband.  Or a wife.  But that is a story for another time.  I was telling you about Dominique.  I consider her my wife, even though that's anatomically impossible, because she did, in a way, give me a child."

"Prince Jajuan?"

"Yes, Birdie, Prince Jajuan.  But that is another story for another time.  Dominique and I grew up together, and we loved each other deeply, but she was three years older than I."

"Ohhh..."

"Exactly.  And as if that were not enough, demons attacked on my confirmation day!"

"Oh nooo, demons are scary...!"

"I thought there weren't any more demons?"

"Not anymore, there aren't.  But when I was a girl, they were innumerable and a constant danger.  They kidnapped Dominique that day."

"Did they?  Did they _really_....?"

" **Yes** , Keshia, they did."

"I didn't mean--"

"Yes, you did.  But I understand why you might ask that."

"....'Msorry."

"I know.  Ahem.  I didn't know she'd been taken until the hunters, my mother amongst them, finally returned.  Without her.  That was the day I decided the demons would be eradicated."

"But you were human then, weren't you?"

"That I was, Birdie.  But I had help."

"The Ladies."

"Yes, the Ladies.  And as gratitude for my dedication, they gave me long life, strength, long memory, and the beginnings of the great magical acumen I have today."

"But how did you find Dominique again?"

"Queen Dianne.  She kidnapped her brother, because her mother had always wanted to see him again, and she finally fulfilled her mother's wish.  Fortunately for us all, I trailed after the queen to her mother, where I was reunited with Dominique."

"....but how does the Lady of Creation and Mother of All become lovers with the Lady of Destruction?"

"Exactly the way I did, Keshia."


	93. On Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about my spiritual revelation, and thoughts on Jesus

So I was reading a book, as I do, and I had a spiritual revelation, as I do.

I realized that even though I hate my life a lot, and it sucks a lot, and I would never choose it for MYSELF, I would definitely choose it for others.

What I mean by that is that if I had to choose a million times, every time, I would choose this life so that noone else would ever have to live it.

And I won't claim that I've got the worst life in the world, there is no way to judge that, and I've got it better than many people in many ways, so it wouldn't even be close to true.  What I AM saying is that I would not inflict the life I have on even the worst, most atrocious serial child-rapist in the world. (We've had the discussion where I explain that rape is worse than murder to me, and child abuse is worse than rape to me, making a child-rapist top of the fuck you with a cactus list, right?  Ok.)

And I had a sort of discussion with....something.  The light.  I don't know what the fuck to call it, but it felt vaguely feminine, there was the feeling of a lot of birds fluttering around, and it was reassuring and soothing, and it was God, Allah, the Goddess, whatever you want to call it.

And I bitched.

I told her how much things sucked and how much I hated it and didn't want it and...she said that that was ok.  That it was ok to feel frustrated with things and to be upset and to want to punch the "revoke" token on my life.  Which was nice and a relief, because everyone is always all of this bullshit about how you have to not bitch about the suck, and how being frustrated and annoyed with it somehow negates or invalidates your commitment to dealing with it and making it better, and I say a lot of FUCK THAT.

But I complained, and she told me it was ok to feel upset, and I told her I needed help.  You know, I always kind of assumed that whoever was up there, on account of them being able to read my mind, would just KNOW what I need, that I needed things, but I have a lot conflicting desires in me, and even if I didn't, it is an important part of my personal journey to just fucking ASK for help.  I don't do that well.

I told her I needed more support, and she scattered glitter on the darkness I'm ankle-deep in.  I have to be ankle-deep, hip-deep in the darkness, because if I don't know it, I can't fight it, but that is more suck and fuck that, I don't want it.  *grumblegrumble*

But she spread glitter on the darkness, and I'm like  "No, I need external validation.  Really clear stuff that is obviously from you in some way."

And she made it happen.  I don't know when it'll show up, and I know other people can be bearers of messages from gods and this morning's clarity may have been from her, IDEFK, but it was really impressively cool to see rods of rainbow shooting out of this bright mass of whiteness to inject goodness and validation into my life.

I cried a lot, about my personal choices, and the pit I will always be mired in, my face turned up to the light, but I feel better, so.

But by the logic of bullshit sucks, I really think Jesus was an angry, frequently-bitter kind of guy.  I mean, he DID literally flip tables and chase people around with a whip because of the massive levels of FUCK YOU he felt towards them.  I feel like that would have been Really Satisfying.  I'm not Christian, by any stretch of the imagination, but I was raised Christian, and I'm American, so whenever I get spiritual, I start thinking about Christian concepts, and not only does it feel really nice to think that I could have looked at Jesus and gone "God is so much bullshit" and he would have toasted me and said "A-fucking-men," it really explains, for me, why he would have demanded to know why God forsook him the night before he died.

Because it's one thing to know you have to bear the shitty, it's another thing to go through it, and I don't know how many times I have cried and screamed and raged against my fate, or how many times I'll do it again in the future, but I really think he was frustrated and miserable and in pain and just screaming because fuck everything.


	94. On Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, if you are a fan of Welcome to Night Vale and haven't heard the latest episode, open a new tab, go listen to that shit, then come back and read this, because this is spoiler-city for Cookies.

So, this latest episode of WTNV just about KILLED me laughing the whole episode.  Steve Carlsberg is Cecil's brother-in-law, because you can't hate ANYONE like you hate family, and, at best, he's bad at dealing with extra-curriculars.  At worst, he's neglectful, which would explain a lot about why Cecil hates him so much.  But Cecil never mentioned a sister, so maybe his brother is Janice's father?  But his brother disappeared when Cecil was a teenager?  Maybe Janice isn't his niece by blood, but by chosen family connections?  Who knows?

And then there was Cecil going "Carlos is allergic to cats.  I got him Claratin, so he should be good," OMFGLOL, and then Cecil BLACKMAILING station management into buying cookies, though now I'm thinking about the former station management, and it makes me wonder what kind of power Strex has that they got who- or whatever used to be in charge to concede control, because there is no fucking way it's as simple as "We bought NVCR."

And Cecil stumbling and calling Strex stupid and evil made me glee.

Also, Cecil really IS a bad salesman, you don't SELL Girl Scout cookies, you tell people the cookies can be purchased, then hold out your hand and wait for money to be placed into it, because Girl Scout cookies pretty much sell themselves.  You just have to give people an opportunity to buy them.  XDD

And OMFGEEEEEEEEEE, Dana is definitely, definitely black, only black ladies would ever call their hair "natural" and OMFGEEEEEEEEE, Dana either has, or WILL have natural hair, eeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

Also, Dana is currently 22.  If her brother should be turning 26 and the cake said 33, that's 7 years, so if she says her future self had to be 29, her current self must be 22.  She's younger than me.

But whatevers.  For a minute, I was really sure she was turning into a hooded figure, but then she said her future self was there and luminous and ugh, god, it's just so awesome, I can't even.

And let's talk about TAMIKAAAAAAAAAA!

She's a Girl Scout, and it sounds like her sisters are raising money and rallying to her aid!

Also, they teach library science in Night Vale Girl Scouts.  Tamika was TOTALLY trained there.  It's why she was so prepared.

Also, Lauren talking about trying to find girls with helicopter piloting skills, LOL.

Tamika's still out there, hiding and keeping Strex pilots captive, and just being her awesome bamf self, I love her lots.

All the hearts for Tamika.


	95. On Life Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about my writing and sex work

So, once again, I have decided to take a new angle on my story I've been working on.  This angle comes from the "conflictless plot" direction, using pretty much everything I love, including slice of life in a fantasy realm, whoo!

I've also decided that my ideal life track is to be a cam girl and a writer.  I really like to show off my body and my dancing, and the site I'm thinking of using also has chatting and a friend of mine worked with them for a while and says they seem pretty on the up and up, so that's encouraging.

But really, I honestly really like the idea of doing sex work, using my body and my wit to earn my living, and with Amazon wishlists and things like that, my fans could get me gifts, also there are side things I could do in relation to the camming for extra money, and it all sounds really nice and fun, especially since there would be the whole internet between me and anyone wanting sexytimes with me, so that would make me feel even more secure.

There is a whole stigma associated with doing sex work, I do know that, and if I earned enough money, got popular enough, it could completely ruin my chances of doing any other type of work, even writing, but I feel like being able to set my own hours, work as long as /I/ wanted, make appointments with who I wanted, when I wanted, it would definitely reassure me and make me feel better about myself and my life.

It would also free up my schedule for other things I'd like, such as writing, spending time with friends, watching stuff I liked, so on and so forth.


	96. Locs!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about the beginning of my locking proceeeeeess

So, I've finally decided that I want to do dreadlocs.  I've been thinking about it for a while now, but I've been afraid that I would need professional maintenance and to pay someone, basically.

Fortunately, after looking around a bit, I'm realizing that I don't have to pay anyone, and I can do all necessary maintenance myself.

I wanted to do a video journey, but the video I took was apparently too large to be uploaded by shitty wifi hotspot internet, so i guess that's gonna be a backburner.

Additionally, my story has really been taking off, both in my head and via text, it just kinda flows and rolls, and I don't have to wait for it, or catch it or anything, it just does its thing, and I do my thing, and I write when I have the energy to write, story in my head when I don't, and life is GREAT!

I'm very excited to see what goes wrong next.


	97. On Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style sentence

Friendship is weird, and so are people.


	98. On Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I don't like sleeping when i have to.  It means I'm not doing...various things.  Whatever's got my interest.  I like sleeping when I want to, for as long as I want.  Argh, argh, argh.  When I'm camgirl queen of the net, I'll sleep when I want.


	99. On Locking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, I'm starting to understand why all the advice for getting into dreadlocks was wash you hair, wash your hair, wash your hair.  Washing your hair, along with the drying and shrinkage, it encourages sectioning, which is the first step towards locs.  I can feel my hair start to section already, after only a few days, which is a SHOCK to me, I thought it would take longer, but it's already doing that, and all I have to do is keep washing it and leaving it alone, for now.

I'm going to separate it into roughly half-inch square segments as I go.  I read a thing that said do an inch, but I'm pretty sure that was for white people, because their hair grows longer faster, as well as straighter,  so it would take more to lock it up.

Plus, I want skinny locs that I can do cool styles with.  And if my segments turn out to be too small, I'll just combine them.  I won't use thread, like chescaleigh did, but I'm sure some enthusiastic twisting over a period of time should make it work.

I keep worrying that I'm going to look a hot mess going places, but I spend all my time around white people, they can't tell.

On an unrelated note, I found a coat I thought had been stolen!  It turned out to be hidden from the thief, safe and sound with me, I'm so happy, my current coat (which is the same brand) endured some serious abuse and is all torn and nasty, and now I've got a new one!  WHEEEEEEE!


	100. Tromping Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about locs and story

I wish my hair would hurry up and be dreadlocks, but I haven't even been at this a week.  It's been sectioning pretty well, so that's encouraging, and frankly, I just LOVE washing my hair every day.  I only co-wash, so I'm not worried about drying my hair out, and I know buildup is a possible issue, but I'm not too worried about that, either, as it's not an excessively thick conditioner, and goddammit, my locing journey has JUST begun.

In other news, I am still desperately in love with my story, but I'm now realizing that I can't go further with the explorations in my head until I've written some more stuff out--I have no foundation to work from, and I've done everything that I could without foundation.  I want to eventually get Morgan (The main character) exploring the whole planet, but argh, argh, argh.  I've no idea how to make THAT happen, so.  *Shrugs*  I must write.

It's not a bad thing.  I AM desperately in love with the story, and I want it out of my head so that it can be shared and enjoyed.  Or at least enjoyed more by me.


	101. On Ghost Stories and Possessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about a story I want to write

I really want to do a story from the perspective of someone getting possessed by a ghost.  I mean, we always see them from the perspectives of other people, but how weird would that be--aware that the person you're seeing is not the person who's actually there, or seeing one person kind of superimposed on top of another, or if you got possessed by a demonic ghost or something, trying to manage those impulses and dealing with the times you couldn't.  I think that'd be a great story.  I just can't get my mind to relax enough for it.  Bluh.


	102. Returning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

So, I finally figured out what is probably the appeal of coming home, for people whose homes and parents aren't toxic places to be: There's this sense of being a kid again, of everything will be alright because someone else is handling it, and they have already proven themselves capable of handling it, competent at that handling.

I'm realizing this because I'm at the home of the people who took me in while I was in college and treated me like a second daughter, and it really IS like coming home to be at their place, and I always knew that being at their place was like being home, but I guess I didn't think the feeling would persist after they'd moved?

But it did, and I still feel like I'm home, because there are familiar things around, and they are still essentially the same people and it's just really, really nice.  I might cry when I have to go back to my place.


	103. On Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

In the last couple years, I have become a very hard woman.

And yesterday, a friend of mine, a woman who, with her husband, took me in and treated me as a second daughter, she got bruised on my edges.

And I feel bad that I hurt her (I almost pushed off the responsibility, said I was sorry that she was hurt) but I hurt her having a discussion of privilege.

And the thing is, is that she's willing to take every point, except the one that puts any kind of personal responsibility on her.

She says she can't think of things from a global view.

Every argument I made, she turned to her personal experiences, which I get, but she's white, so, or else she made some kind of defense about how this thing or that one applies, which was true, but also not the point.

And she said I made my arguments to her reasonably, which frustrated me, because why do the arguments have to be made politely for you to listen to someone else's pain?

And she was already upset about her father's death, which I  had forgotten, and I do feel bad about that, I might have just let the conversation stop if I'd remembered.

But I think I want to feel bad because besides letting the conversation drop and letting my frustration and resentment fester, I would not have said or done anything differently, and frankly, even though I'm sure she really was upset, and I know she really did go through some shit with her father, I feel very manipulated by the fact that when I refused to back down, she broke down.

I'm not sure if I'm a bad person for, while she's crying and actually quite upset, very dispassionately thinking that she was just trying to bring the conversation around to herself and to stop me saying what I was saying.

But then again, she did say that she felt very ignored.

And she did want things to be very different with her father when he died.

I guess what really makes me wonder if I'm a terrible person is the fact that while I was sad for her sadness, I was not sad to be part of the reason she was crying.

It's just so frustrating that she claims to be in favor of this, that, and the other, but refuses to accept her part in the play, refuses to accept the fact that she is among the oppressors.

And even though some terrible shit went down in her house about religion when she was a kid, that is NOT religious oppression.

I'm tired of backing down and letting one little concession be "enough."

I'm tired of white people being so fucking WHITE at me.

Well, this is what fantasy stories are for.


	104. Pre-work Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I didn't write before work today because my mind was scattered and afraid and anxious and I just don't LIKE it.


	105. Do The Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, I started twisting my hair up, but because I tried to be lazy about it, it is now SHODDY and looks TERRIBLE, so I've decided that I'll finger-comb through it all on Saturday, then spend all of Saturday watching anime and twisting my hair properly.  It won't be a super-precise grid, because I literally can't do that on my own head, but I've decided that I'll divide my hair into four segments and subdivide each segment until it's as small as I want it to be at the base, then palm-roll and clockwise twisting until everything is twisted.  I expect this to take FOREVER and to make my arms hells of sore.  Hence anime.  Fortunately, I have some on my computer I can watch, so I don't have to worry about buffering and commercials and all that BS.

Also, it occurs to me that I haven't written any poetry or stories for you for a while.  I know most of my creative energy is going into my other, big story, but I definitely feel like I want to write more here, as well.  I have other ideas.  I was thinking about an OC PWP, just because I wanted some sweet and gentle loving.  We'll see.


	106. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I had a weird dream today.  Weird and kind of cool.

I'm not sure what was going on, but it was some kind of X-men crossover with something fantastical and magic.

There was a group trying to do one thing, and a person who was somehow also three people, or possibly three people in the same guise, like V or Anonymous, but they were directly at odds with each other.

The group doing the thing surrounded me, and I was one of the three, but the other two who were me were out on the balcony.  The group around me began singing, but I started singing something different.

Then, at a good point, one of the other mes, up and to the right, began singing, we were going to raise power with a round, while the group around me was doing it by group dynamics and dancing, there was circle dancing and spinning.

And then the third me either jumped in too early, or too late, and the round was disharmonious.  So even though we were draining power from the group around me so they couldn't KILL me, we couldn't raise any power, either.

And the song we were singing was a vaguely Celtic one, one I don't actually know, but that sounded really nice.  Although, now that I'm thinking about it, it was probably Daffodil Lament by The Cranberries.  I couldn't understand the words in the dream, but the musical tone sounds right.


	107. Royal Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose, trigger warning for implied rape and implied murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this started off as "the princess rescues herself from the dragon." *cough* it got away from me.

By the time the princess was five, she was mistress of the javelin and the spear.

By the time she was ten, darts and throwing daggers had been added to her repertoire.

By the time she was eleven, she knew what she'd been training her whole life for.

By the time she was twelve, she had finally come to terms with her fate.

By the time she was seventeen, she had added throwing axes and psychology to her weaponset.

She spent the next year coming up with and discarding variations on the theme "Look harmless."

By the time her eighteenth birthday had come, she still hadn't decided on one, so she went for "Pretty princess in a dress."

The dragon, huge and orange and graceful, landed in the center of the tourney grounds, and because he transformed into a human as he landed, he seemed to land farther, though there was no farther he could land.

When he straightened, his skin was unnaturally pale, a beigey-pink color like newly-healed wounds or very pale babies, and he wore fountains of orange robes, the color interrupted by the bright wheat-yellow fall of his sheets of hair.  In a strange way, he might have been attractive, even as odd as he looked, and he certainly thought he was attractive.  Or perhaps he thought himself powerful.  No matter what, he held himself like he had something those looking at him would want.

"Your royal highness," he crowed, his voice magically augmented to roll across the grounds, "I have given you thirty years of peace and prosperity, seen you into your rise to kingship, and now you must hold your end of the bargain.  Your daughter is eighteen.  You must give her to me for a bride."  He smugly looked around at the assembled fighters, courtiers, courtesans and common folk, who gasped in confused alarm, unaware of this deal, "And our deal is null and void if she fails to return to my home with me."

The queen hugged her daughter close, cupping that beloved face in her hands before kissing her daughter's brow, "Be well, my love."

The princess nodded and looked to her father, who hugged her close and tight, crushing her hair by burying his face in it, "My daughter, I am so sorry for doing this to you.  I never imagined I would love your mother so dearly as I did.  The follies of youth."

She simply hugged her father back.  She had already cursed and abused him for his youthful hubris, coming through it to forgiveness, because at least she was prepared.

She pulled away from her father an hiked her skirts up.  She did not have to maneuver through the crowds, all stood aside for her as she descended to the center of the tourney fields, and she was a beautiful bright spot of blue and silver, accented by brown skin and fountaining black curls.

She and the dragon had a brief conversation, and he gestured condescendingly for her to proceed with something.

"Farewell, my people and parents.  Be happy, know that I have learned well, and do not seek vengeance for me, I can do that for myself, if I must."

The dragon seemed to be laughing at her, but she looked at him and nodded her readiness.

The kingdom mourned their lost princess for years.

After perhaps a decade, the king and queen had another child, a boy this time, and the news spread throughout the land.  Perhaps the king and queen would be able to be happy again.

On the prince's first birthday, he was presented to the people in the old tourney fields, which had long gone abandoned.

And then a dragon flew overhead, two of them.  One blue, one silver.

The blue one, larger and clearly older, gracefully landed before the royal family, transforming into a woman, bald and haggard, too thin for her frame.

The silver one managed to land, but he fumbled the transformation, tripping over his own feet and almost landing on the young prince.  The older woman caught him with a gentle admonishment, "What have I said about transforming in motion?"

"Don't do it until you know how," he conceded.

It was the princess, older now, and she bent over the young prince, "Hello, little brother.  Meet your nephew."

The king and queen were overcome, and the queen, having turned her son over to his father so that she could fight the oncoming-threat, now swept her daughter and grandson into a hug, loudly crying into her daughter's shoulder and her grandson's hair.

The king was forced to cry silently, his tears dripping onto his son's face, lest his sobs disturb the sleeping prince, but he too wept.

The princess did not, and her son squirmed with discomfort, unaccustomed to such attention.

"I've a gift for you, father."

From the bag tied at her waist, she produced sheets of yellow hair, and baby-pale head, magically preserved in waxy youth, "I was not as prepared as I thought, so I could not stop him giving me a child I did not want from him, but he will never do that to another.  And perhaps this will serve as a reminder against hubris for my little brother.  If it is not enough, his nephew and I will be forced to take steps."

The king accepted the head, held by the unnaturally-textured hair, "You will not return to us, daughter?"

"No.  But I love you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"And that is how the story ends," declared J'nice, in a not-so-subtle hint for her grandchildren to leave her be and let her sleep.

Most of them shuffled off, but Aleisha was always curious and had to ask more questions.

"Are we really royal dragon, granddam?"

"Yes," sighed J'nice, nuzzling Aleisha before drawing the little green dragon quite literally under her wing, "We are."

"And that's why we defend the humans?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hm."  Aleisha settled down, whuffling at J'nice's jaw until she'd gotten herself nice and comfortably settled.  J'nice sometimes wished she had returned home to her parents, but now was not one of those times.


	108. Variations on a theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post, because I'm writing this right after the post before it, and I wrung myself OUT on that one.

So, I've got a friend who can reprise the same character in five different ways and make something awesome every time.

I can't do that.

What I CAN do, however, is reprise a story core five different directions, and I've been overlooking that talent because I feel like everything should be completely original, and because I underestimate the impact changing up the story will have on the characters, and I want completely original characters every time, and I'm just no good at that.

I have to let my talents be what they are: I'm good at short stories, I enjoy writing stories with no conflict, and I can put five different spins on the same story.

What if the princess saved the dragon?

What if the dragon was a woman?

What if the princess knew the dragon was going to take her at a certain age?

What if the dragon and the princess lived happily ever after?

What if the dragon rescued the princess from her parents by taking her?

I could go on.

Maybe not on that theme, but you see my point.


	109. Internet Annoyances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, my internet is down and just not working with my phone, which is a pain.  Of the hugest caliber.  Fuck all of that.  Soundly.


	110. Wording at you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

A wild and vigorous run of hastened swift motion and recalcitrant deities.

That's a whole lot of words to say nothing much, I'm good at that and it's fun.

IDEFK


	111. Of Shady Landlords and Lost Pieces of Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, my landlord suddenly decided that the entire household is moving TODAY.

Fuck him.

But I'm making him help me move ALL of my shit, and I've got a lot.

At least I drank everything that was liquid, so I don't have to worry about that.

On the plus side, I rambled at my friend/ex about my story I'm working on, and she seemed to be really interested to hear what I had to say.

I included a few scenes in the written version that weren't in the version in my head, but unfortunately, I feel like the earlier pieces I originally started out with are sliding away.  They're being replaced with better and more effective pieces, but there's a little sadness for what was lost, what never got to be part of the story.

On the plus side, the story IS moving, it DOES go places when I write things out, I've just been really drained dealing with my internet not working and now this move and packing and bluh.


	112. Tech Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So all my crap has been moved in. Mostly nothing's unpacked, but that's fine, I guess, especially since my back hurts and I have to rest it because I'm moving crap tomorrow. The new places is pretty nice, having a ground level room is really nice, but they didn't bother to spray the bug killer until TODAY, so the house is literally CRAWLING, it's disgusting, I've killed like five bugs TODAY when that's about how many I saw in a MONTH at the last place, even counting this week I've been on vacation.

Internet's still dicking out, so I've given in and called tech support, and they were no help: clear the cache, uninstall it, reinstall it tomorrow, AKA "I hope the problem fixes itself by then or you're sick of calling about it."


	113. And Life Moves On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

Well, I've actually organized all of my boxes and all of my things.  I know where everything is, everything is organized in a sensible manner, and all of my stuff is locked in my room and SAFE.

And, because I've got open space at the top of a lot of the boxes, I can put blankets and sheets in there and have the blankets and sheets take up less space.  That unfortunately means that I would have to have access to all of my boxes to get all of my blankets and stuff, but that might be a mixed blessing.  We'll see.


	114. Regarding Sleep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

Sleep is weird and so are people.


	115. M2X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

Midwest Media Expo is a lot of fun, and you get better, more genuine conversations with people by genuinely complimenting them and genuinely being interested in what they have to say.  Also, there's a painfully cute little octopus in the dealer's room.  I can't even take the cute!


	116. MMX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post, trigger warning for mentions of drinking to get drunk and flirting

Whew, everything's packed up and put away and squeeeeeee, there are free rooms for an extra day, because of reasons and shenanigans and shh.  I shall get drunk and hit on people--WHEE!


	117. On One Night Stands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

The bugs are still here.

Additionally, I've figured out what I would want to do with someone if I got them to my room.

I've always said, "Even if I got someone to my room, I've no idea what I'd DO with them at that point!"

But last night, I had a whole hotel room with two double beds to myself and it occurred to me that, consequence-free, I could bring someone back with me.

So what would I want to DO with them once I got them in there?

Cuddle, mostly.  Maybe a little making out.  Possibly sex, if we both got comfortable enough.

But what's always been holding me back is the fact that I assume if I bring someone to my room, especially if I've just met them that night, they'll assume it's one-night-stand-land, and I don't have a lot of sexual experience, so a partner would have to go slow with me and be patient, and I worry that people wouldn't be willing to do that, so I'm just like "Well, if not that, then what?"

But I've decided that if I get someone into my room, I will TALK to them, even through the awkward and uncomfortable bits, so that I can communicate what I want and hope for and see what they want, too.  It's a good idea, I think.


	118. Bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, I didn't realize bugs gave me panic attacks.  I flipped out on Pete's answering machine about how much he needs to get rid of the bugs last night, and he called this morning and said the exterminator was coming at four, but Kormario says he wasn't aware of anyone coming, and I'm done.  I'm just done.

I spent the night planning getting me to Lansing to stay with Ruby.

I'll be leaving my job, but I'm already at the point where it frustrates and upsets me, so I'm not too worried about that.

I'll just send my bosses an email to let them know, send one to my coworkers to ask for references, and I should be good.

Ruby's already found a few postings on Craigslist that it seems like I'd be qualified for, so I'll revise my resume when I get to Lansing, roll up my sleeves and get to job-hunting.


	119. On Moving Trucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

So, the whole emailing about leaving thing went better than I expected.  Noone seems to be mad, I've got a few folks who are happy to be references and, crazily, my boss pulled me aside to try and offer me more money to stay.  I told him no thanks, I'm going, but it's rather pleasing to realize that I'm a valuable enough employee that he wants to keep me.  He probably just doesn't want to deal with the hassle my leaving will bring, since I'm leaving Friday, which is fast, but I always work fast.

I also found a couple moving trucks, but they all go by the mile if you return to the same general area and argh, argh, argh, because Ted has to RETURN to this area and aaaaaaaargh, because it's 70 miles from here to Lansing, which means 140 miles roundtrip, conservatively, and even at 59 cents a mile, that shit adds up.  ;-;

On the plus side, I talked to Dee, haven't spoken to her in a hot minute, and that was just nice.


	120. Foreign Calendars and holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prose-ish blog-style post

My creativity seems to be coming back, thank god, I thought it was lost or something.

I was thinking about my story, and it occurred to me to wonder if they have seasons or holidays.

That, of course, requires thinking up their days, weeks, months, and years.

It took a little thinking, but here's what I've come up with:

The days are named after the Ladies, and they have six in a week: Casday, Runesday, Jettsday, Yornsday, Clisday, Shersday, for Casern, Runal, Jettas, Yorn, Clio, and Sheras.  It's a lot like our days, but the deities the days were named for are still actively worshiped, because they're still active.

Most systems of time are bookended that way, with Casern at the beginning, the lower Ladies in the middle, and Sheras at the end.

Their months, for instance, have six weeks: Casern's, Runal's, Jettas', Yorn's, Clio's, and Sheras'.  In theory.  In practice, only Young Ladies are concerned about the distinction.

Their days are like that, too, and are divided into six segments, which are each four of our hours, and they count the hours based on the segment of time.  Casern's segment, or "ownership" of day starts at midnight, Runal's at 4am, Jettas' at 8am, Yorn's at noon, Clio's at 4pm, and Sheras' at 8pm.  So R1 is 4am and R4 is 7am.  Because Casern and Clio both start with C, Casern keeps the C and Clio is L.

The notable difference is their months, which they have ten of.

Casern starts their year, and then it's the lesser Ladies, but that's the hotter portion of the year, the first planting, and it's meant to reflect the virtuous, pleasant, or light versions of the Ladies.  In Casern's segment of year, Runal represents domesticated plants and animals, household things, Jettas represents justice and truth, Yorn represents academics and learning about your environment and world, and Clio, because of her proximity to Sheras, represents chaos and destructive focus.  Sheras is the second half of the year, which is cooler, but because of the magic surrounding their planet, temperatures are tropical worldwide, so it's the second planting, and Runal represents the force and ferocity of nature under Sheras, Jettas is death and mourning, Yorn is artistic endeavors and fun things like singing, art, and theater, and Clio is creativity and joyful magic.

So I guess it's more accurate to say that Casern is bookended by positivity and Sheras by darker themes.

All of this makes planning meetings with people rather interesting, from the perspective of someone in this world, especially since they don't count years the way we do, with numbers.  It's all based on each person, and you'd say someone is reaching their third Sheras year to say they're turning 18.  I did not realize this, so it's more interestingness and culture, and probably not viable, because that's way too easy to get mixed up, especially if notable events have their Casern year, and someone's approaching their seventh Casern year, it could all get way too jumbled too easily.

So they do count years, probably from the time people were made after the failure of the Demons.

And Jaina has been around at least 800 years, so we'll say the year is....1244?  Yeah, that works.

As for planning a meetup with someone, a meeting in Casern....hmm, I think I'm gonna.......work out the details later.  All burned out, now.


	121. The Highwayman Reprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short poem

The highwayman came riding, riding

Riding through the tale on a windy night

Riding through your heart on a cold dark night

Riding through your lives while the world's in flight

And soon you'll know him.


	122. More things and stuff?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I spent most of today sleeping.  I'm ok with this.


	123. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I'm at my dear friend's home now.  It's rather crowded and rowdy here, but not as bad as I'd feared.

I'm so relieved to be out of my old house and out of my old job, and I don't really know what awaits me in the future, but I have one, I feel hopeful for the first time in a very long time.  I know I should be anxious about my life, my situation, getting a job, all of that, but mostly, I just feel blessed and free and happy.  Hermes and Hestia are good to me.


	124. Mayoi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poem. the title is Japanese for "lost"

Lonely is the little bug

Lost and cold as a shell-less slug

She hides her face

Hides her fear

Til mother comes

Mother is near

I've no face for her to see

But soon I know she'll be me


	125. Warning to the Wise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poem

Be careful what you wish for

The thorns are sharper than they seem

Look before you leap

The trolls below can be mean

But hope exists

And wings do fly

And someday soon

You'll see the sky


	126. Incantado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poetry

There are so many things I should be doing

And none of them appeal

I want to be a productive person

But that's just not how I feel

I ache and want with desperate hope

So many things that'll help me cope

And in the dust that's left behind

Of all the wonders in my mind

I pray for love

I pray for peace

I pray for mercy from the east.


	127. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Either a blog-style post or a poem. Not sure. You decide.

At the end of despair is....hope?


	128. About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry

There's something mysterious and sweet

About the way you move your feet

About the crimson in your sheet

About the massive moving beat

About the things that come and creep

About the way you make me weep

About the joy you help me reap

And I would never be the same without you


	129. Good Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

Good days are good.


	130. A Life of Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style bit of post

A life of passion is....I don't know what it is, but it is.


	131. Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style twists

So, I finally decided that I don't have the patience to wait for my locs to loc up, and I like putting my fingers in my hair, so I took my twists out, and I was so happy to see my hair be big again.  My hair is happy hair, and I am a happy pf to have long, loose hair again.  It did look cute, though, all twisted up.  I might do twists again in the future.  I might not.  We'll see.


	132. Things I'm Not Allowed To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

I decided that I wanted to make a list of things I feel like I'm not allowed to say, just to see how I feel about those things.

______

I don't care.

Go away.

Because I don't want to.

Listen to me.

My life is worse than yours.

Love me.

Kiss me.

Fuck me.

Be here with me, but don't talk to me or make noise.

Touch me.

I wanted you to talk to me, and now I want you to stop.

I want to not exist.

Tell me I'm attractive.

Show me you think I'm attractive.

Be quiet.


	133. Small Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry

I fall away into you

I get lost in your love

At the end of where I am

And what you know

Is a small eternity

Filled with us


	134. And Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is just a blog-style post or a poem, so...take your best guess, you're probably right

I am constantly amazed

By myself

By others

And by the intersection of myself

And others


	135. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blog-style post

So, I just had The Most vivid dream about being Wufei Chang from Gundam Wing while he was between Gundams.

The dream starts off with me being Wufei, coming into a conversation with the other gundam pilots late.  They were all talking about how this gundam belonged to Heero, and he needed to go retrieve it from Treize Khushrenada, and I'm like, "No, that is MY Gundam, and I'll go get it."

Then I'm Treize for a moment, and waiting for a gundam pilot, any gundam pilot, and Wufei shows up and looks VERY surprised to see me there.  And then we have the conversation any chaotic good hero would have with his affably evil enemy, which ends, of course, with Wufei running off to find his gundam.

And I'm Wufei again, running through a sterile white military base, but unlike in animes, there are slight hallways and half turns, and I keep going the wrong way and having to backtrack, at one point near the end, I almost run into some bathrooms, but then around the next corner is the hangar.

When I get into the hangar, I run to the first mobile suit I see, taking a running jump to bridge the gap.  Halfway across, I realize two things: 1) this is the wrong mobile suit, it has a white, flattish head, rather than the human-like and interesting face of Shenlong, and 2) I'm not going to make it all the way across.

I grab one set of the rails on either side of the mobile suit's head and move back to the walkway with my feet dangling down at least three times my height, but I don't look to confirm, it's just an educated guess based on the typical size of mobile suits.

Back on the walkway, I take another, better look around, and have to navigate the various walkways until I reach Shenlong, which has a ladder leading  up to its head, which I climb to get into it.  Just as I get into it, I see Treize at the entrance of the hangar, hand on his sword, tapping it echoingly.

Now, ever since I (Wufei) left Treize's presence, there's been a loud, echoing metallic tapping, and I knew that it was Treize's way of saying "If I catch you, I'll have to do terrible things to you, but I don't want to catch you," so it was like an almost-friendly warning, a notification of his presence.

It definitely lent a sense of urgency to the search.

It also turned out to be a noise that was happening in real life, but shh about that.

So, there's a lot of symbolism to my dream, that's personal to me, of course.  I've been watching a lot of Gundam Wing, so that explains the framing, and Treize and Wufei are my favorite pairing in Gundam Wing, so that explains that.

I generally have running dreams when I'm anxious, but not frustrated, and this one, in spite of the urgency, wasn't very stressful at all.  In fact, the metallic tinking of Treize warning me felt very companionable and kind and reassuring, so that's interesting.  But then again, most of my running away dreams are very serene and soft and delicate, so yeah.


	136. On Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

In a weird way, working was really good for my writing, because it forced me to cut out the writing that was frivolous and silly so that I'd focus only on the stuff that was most important to me, because I just didn't have TIME for the silly and frivolous, which, while fun, is like a slice of cake when you're hungry.  It tastes good, and it's something to put in there, but it's not really satisfying, even if you eat a lot.


	137. Rainbow Colored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiny bit of flashfic

The rainbow flower is so beautiful in the moonlight.

If only I'd know it was poison before I


	138. Mirrored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose-poetry thing

I stare myself down

And am overwhelmed


	139. I'm a Rock Rock Rock, I'm a Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, I know I was going to update this every day, and I meant to, but then I get distracted, stressed, things like that.  In the past, I'd just fill in the ones I'd missed, fill in the days I've missed, but that just makes me stressed out, so I'm not going to do that today.

I was just playing Pathfinder, and I have a battle-useless character with all kinds of trained knowledge checks, so she's useful and important, but she's not in battle, so.  But it was a lot of fun, just using the character's knowledges and information for a variety of helpful things.

At the end of it, though, we got to giggling and laughing, and the DM was talking about a spell fumble (A thing he does that I don't think is typical) wherein the caster suddenly thinks they are a fish, and I giggled, "I'm a fish, put me in water!"  Because it was funny to me.

There was also a story he told wherein one of his party set off a trap wherein a rock would produce an illusion of a person who didn't move or say anything, and they cast read surface thoughts, and the DM apparently thought for a moment, then reported the surface thoughts as being, "I'm a rock, rock, rock, I'm a rock."

And it made me laugh for ten minutes.

And that was before I got high.


	140. Ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

So, if you've been reading this for any period of time, (Or you've read the whole thing) you know I'm working on a fantasy story, one with no conflict, and I'm still working on it, but I've been having serious trouble getting past the main character's introduction to the fantasy world she's in.

So I decided to make the love interest/prince a woman.  I am doing it, going the full nine yards and filling my story with lesbians.  The love interest's mother was also lovers with a woman, and both of those women were incarnate forms of deities, but I don't know what to do with a male romantic interest.  I'm a lesbian, ok?  Ok.  Also, I need a reason for my main character to leave the palace, especially since she doesn't seem to spend a lot of time with the romantic interest in the story, anyway.  I might need to revise that, or something, I just hate leaders who aren't shown to be doing work and who aren't shown to be busy, bluh.


	141. Fleetingly Eternal Burning Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post

There's a Miku song, Fragile Phoenix (AKA Fleetingly Eternal Burning Bird, three cheers for translations) that always makes me think about happiness, and the lengths people can and will go to in search of happiness, even hurting others, or themselves, in the process.  That was pretty much it.


	142. I Would Love A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this is ABSOLUTELY inspired by Lordi's song Would You Love A Monsterman

Julian wasn't really in the habit of going past cemeteries late at night, but he'd had a long shift at work, the buses had all been late, and by the time he made it to the bus stop closest to his home, it was almost ten at night.  And he still had an hour walk.

He was so angry.

But fortunately, his walk home was pretty secluded, being as he lived on the far side of a big cemetery, and noone really wanted to be around those late at night.

Especially a night like this one, where the wind whipped, and the sky threatened to open up and pour down any minute.

He only noticed them because the wind caused a tree branch to rip his headphones off, scratching his head painfully in the process.

He retrieved his headphones, then noticed movement in the cemetery, some yards away from him.

It was a little girl, about eight or so, with a brightly-colored scarf holding her halo of hair back, surrounded by huge men, four of them, with white sticks twisted into their long ropes of hair, and leaves and more white sticks poking out of half-flattened afros.

Julian watched for a moment, uncertain what was happening, if the girl needed help, as the men seemed to maintain a distance as they moved around her, looming threateningly, then backing away to circle behind the fellow who seemed to be the leader.

Something was wrong with the men's faces, which were oddly pale and, they moved strangely, their fingers too long, their arms and legs shifting wrongly.  Then a flash of lighting revealed the problem.

Their faces were rotting off.

"Hey!"

Julian shouted, then, after a bare second's hesitation, climbed over the cemetary gate, running for the little girl.  She needed his help, or she was going to DIE.  He stumbled over and around graves, shouting at the men to get away from her, especially when he realized that what he'd thought were white sticks were actually bones, and he swung his backpack at the men.

He didn't manage to hit any of them, but they retreated, disappearing into the darkness.

He turned back to the little girl, to tell her she was safe, to ask her where she lived, who her people were, and the last things he saw were:

Her brightly-colored scarf, tied in a bow at the crown of her head

Her too-wide, too-bright, too-sharp smile

And her unnatural, pupil-less blue-upon-blue eyes.


	143. Kurtuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musings on ableism in a particular fanwork

So, I was looking at a Yulestuck video featuring Mituna and Kurloz. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hd0z59Gj3xA <\---This one.  It's good)

Now, I have yet to abandon my thought that Kurloz is directly responsible for whatever's happened to post-death Mituna's brain, but they ARE moirails.  I wonder if, rather than the absolute control he demonstrates over Meulin, Kurloz sometimes uses his chucklevoodoos to take over Mituna's brain Just Enough that he smoothes out uncontrollable physical symptoms of Mituna's brain injury, so that Mituna can do things he used to be able to do before his injury.

And now I'm kind of wondering if it would be a kindness or ableism if Kurloz did actually do that to Mituna.  I'm leaning towards ableism.

Because in the video (And the comic it's based on) it's pretty clear Kurloz has control of Mituna's mind, and they dance together.  It's pretty heavily implied Mituna wouldn't be able to dance like that without the control, either because of physical inability, or just because he doesn't know how to dance that way, which is always a possibility.

And it seems pretty clear to me that Mituna is mostly aware of himself while under Kurloz's control, or else otherwise he's shouting pale affection at Kurloz's retreating back, which makes less sense than the thought that Kurloz can take just enough control of Mituna to make him dance like that, without demolishing Mituna's awareness of self.

I'm able-bodied, so I may have implied something ableist in that musing.  If I did, please feel free to let me know.


	144. Dissociative Fugue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think dissociation is necessary as a trigger warning here, except for the fact that I wrote this in a dissociative fugue. They only last a few seconds, maybe a minute or two at most, depending on how long I let them, and then I feel better and different afterwards. Ghost in the Shell's Inner Universe and I'm a Soldier intros plus thinking about the anime Noein got me this time.

The self.

The many faces of you.

The many existences that were never who you were meant to be.

The many selves I have never been.

The many sides of existence that resonate in time to make this place.

The dice roll that is this moment happening.

All of existence and none of it.

The universe in an atom.

The digital and offline self.


	145. Pretty Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I was looking at somebody else's Tumblr, and the idea that mermaids kill all men, but turn women into mermaids and fall in love with women struck me.
> 
> Trigger warnings for dysphoria, cissexism, misgendering, and mentions of murder

I remember it was Easter, but warm for the year.

The whole family got together for a big picnic after church, down at the beach, because it was hot and nice and everyone had been looking forward to it.

Except me and Templeton.

When everyone else changed into swimsuits and trunks and saris and sarongs, me and Templeton just stayed in our church clothes, because neither of us was putting on swim stuff, and wearing church clothes was better than getting yelled at.

So together we walked, not arm in arm, because both of us wanted to touch anybody or be touched.

"I like your dress," I offered, even though it was cut for a different body shape and didn't look flattering on him.

"I thought about you when I got it," he responded, and he was bigger than me, so it'd never fit on me, but sometimes, he let me wear his dresses when it all hurt too much, "And sorry about your hair."

I ran my fingers over my shaved-clean head, because it had been too long to look right while out with decent folk, but too short to be braided, even in cornrows, so my dad shaved it all off while I didn't cry, him apologizing the whole time, because I knew how my mama got, and at least it wouldn't be uneven.

"Lots of pretty girls go bald!" I joked, and even to my ears, it sounded false and miserable, because it was.  I wanted long hair like his, relaxed and pretty, with a headband to keep it back.  I didn't say that, though, and he didn't say he wished he could shave his hair off, because even with it braided back into cornrows or pulled into a tight bun, it was too long for him, too much for his sensibilities, his aesthetic, and I knew the brush of his hair against the skin exposed by the neckline of his pretty yellow sundress had to be driving him as mad as the heat of the sun on my naked scalp.

The sounds of the party faded into the distance behind us, and I couldn't even hear Big Mama yelling at Auntie Shannon to have Darlene and them "round up those kids before they hurt theyselves."

If somebody called us, we wouldn't be able to hear them, and we'e get in a lot of trouble when we came back, but they always called us the wrong names, anyway.

We were near the rocks and the tidepools when Templeton's head came up, and he looked around, "Coraline, do you hear that?"  I didn't.  "Hear what?"

He began walking ahead, as fast as his feet could take him, stumbling over rocks and nicking his nice new shoes, which made me wince, because they were so pretty, but also because I had to follow him and get my own shoes scuffed.

"Somebody's singin'," he breathed, then kept going, not even waiting a little bit for me, and I had to grab rocks and it was gross, and I just didn't like it, but if I didn't keep up with Templeton, it'd be on me, and if he didn't keep up with me, it'd be on him, because we were the weird little birds that the grown folks didn't know what to do with and didn't want to think about: too old to be innocent, too young to know our own minds.  
  
We got over the rocks, and there was an alcove with two women, lounging in the water.  One was younger, me and Templeton's age, and she was more in the water than out of it, so her hair was waterlogged and heavy, floating around her in enviable inky curls.  The older one had the kind of body that I both wanted and wanted to be, leaning out of the water to sing, her mouth full of needle-sharp teeth, her hair a huge halo of darkness about her head.

"Templeton!"

I shouted at him, grabbing him and pulling him back when I realized he was heading right for that beautiful monster with her sharp teeth and her shrewd eyes and her sharp claws.

"But Coraline....damn, she is a dime, and she wants me to break off a lil piece, you know how it goes, right?"

Templeton has been gay for as long as I knew him, in quiet, private conversations, and I knew something had to be wrong if he wanted any piece of any woman, even one as beautiful as her.  Plus, he didn't even talk like that, he was from the suburbs and liked dubstep, the stupid fucker.

She was looking at me now, curious and amused, but still singing, and I don't know what she did, but Templeton was fighting me in earnest, trying to get to this monster woman, and I shouted at her, desperate and afraid for Templeton, "Leave him alone!"

Just then, the littler one in the water swam up, "Mama, they look weird.  How do you tell the man apart from the woman?

The older one stopped singing, and me and Templeton almost fell over as he suddenly stopped trying to force his way against me.  He was bigger, but I had better upper body strength.

The older one chuckled, her voice rich and sweet, "You always know a man, because they always come when you sing."  And she was pointing at Templeton, in his pretty dress, with his pretty hair and scuffed pretty shoes, and I'm pretty sure tears welled up in his eyes, even as the mother continued, pointing at me in my suit and my shiny shoes and shaved-bald head, "And a woman will always see you for what you are, lovey, not what she wants to see."  I got a little misty, myself.

But Templeton was confused, looking around like he wanted to know what was going on, and I didn't blame him, but I pulled him back more, "Please miss, just let us go, we don't want any trouble, we won't tell anybody."

"Coraline....are they /really/...?"

The older one gave me a thorough once-over, then said, "Well, we don't want a man, anyway, what use is a man?  But any woman can come to us.  Won't you join us, pretty girl?"

And just because she called me a pretty girl, I thought about it hard, and I saw Templeton see me thinking about, thinking about all the times I was called a freak and a fag by my own family, the way my mama shouted and got mad and stomped and carried on at the church for the Holy Ghost to take me, and take this out of me, usually with me right by her, praying just as hard, the sad look on my daddy's face when he saw me trying to grow my hair out and he just shook his head, because he knew I wanted to be a natural girl, not just have cornrows like some gangster.

"You should do it," Templeton encouraged, "It might be the best shot you got."

And I looked at him, knowing he had it just as hard as me, and I hugged him hard and pushed him back the way he came, watched him go.

I'll never look like Kelly or her mama, Isabelle, but nobody yells at me anymore, and everybody calls me my real name, and I can grow my hair out as long as I like it.

I try to come back, every now and again, and I'll sing for Templeton, so he hears it, because it really only does work on guys, and the time passes faster than it should, but he gets taller and slimmer, tells me about his T and his pink packer that makes him laugh and think of me, because I like pink so much, and he cuts his hair and wears ugly sweatervests, and he's so happy, it makes my heart soar for him.

And he introduces me to his boyfriend one day, who's as starched and clean-cut as him, and Kelly won't say hi to them, but she tells me how happy she is for them when I kiss the tension from her body later, and I am so happy, I don't even know what to do with it.

So I sing for men and turn them loose, instead of killing them like a good mermaid should, and Kelly forgives me, because she loves me so.  I'm her pretty girl.


	146. Sheer Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just venting about everything that's scaring me lately. TW for mention of suicide

So, I've recently been looking for a job, but it's very difficult for me, because every time I get anywhere near somehow finding a profession, I find myself, over and over again, aparalyzed by terror, to the point that I can't make my cover letter and I can't send out my resume, and I'm so frustrated with myself.

But, I've figured out the source of my sheer terror: I keep feeling like I've already proved to myself that the working world is exactly everything my parents made me fear: exhausting, miserable, unhappy, the whole shebang. I'm currently staying with my aunt and uncle, and they're being way nicer to me than they probably should be, but I'm just so afraid to go out into the world, i'm so afraid that I'll repeat the last year, and I don't want to do that, it was a job with a great salary, but they kept switching up my work in ways I wasn't prepared to deal with and I just felt so miserable and dead inside and expendable.

Well, no, crazily, the great thing about work is that you do feel like you have purpose, you do feel like you are necessary, I just. I don't fucking know. Combine the work with my living situation, and it was just too much for me, I couldn't handle it, especially when I moved into a place full of cockroaches that was just crawling and infested and yeah.

So now I'm just shaking in my boots, because I only know one type of work, really, and I don't want to go back into that field for fear that it'll turn out just like what I was doing before and...and...and I'm tired of contemplating suicide every other day. I need to make some kind of routine that'll free my head from the misery. Roleplay isn't it, and isn't enough.

I was thinking about writing some howcast-style articles: how to be happy, how to know yourself, how to get what you want from people, things like that.

I could write really good articles of that sort, I think, but the issue there is being critiqued and a fear of not being good enough. I don't have the persistence I need.

Maybe I need a writing group? I probably need a writing group, people I like who help keep me on track, give me focus, so on and so forth.


	147. I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short rap

Side step

Side swept

Banging on my knees

I bet

Lie kept

Don't you aim to please?

I know the way you cut your hair

I know the way you throw your flair

I know bout all the pain and all the lies and all the things you keep inside

Yeah


	148. Magics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meditation on what magic lessons would look like for a random black girl in the modern world

Your lessons begin early and young, informally at family gatherings, but more informative because of it.

Gram's will-o-the-wisp to introduce you to a cousin of your mother's, up from the south.

The calming spell Aunt Josephine puts in the kids' pie, shooing you off to play when you notice.

You don't eat that pie, and you watch your cousins droop their way down to the basement for television, movies, or a nap.

Man-Man is one of three adults who go with them.

Another will-o-the-wisp from that cousin later, because she can't remember your father's name.

The casual illusions woven by your aunts to illustrate tales to one another, tales you know you don't understand about people you don't know, but noone stops you hearing, because you sit quietly, watching and learning.

There's the older boys down the street, snagging white girls with look-at-me spells white kids don't get taught.

Cousin Jarvis, who's only a little bit older than you, getting his ass walloped by Gram and his mom for trying it on Little Alicia.

Of course, there are the formal lessons in school as well.

It's a good school, your mother, Gram, and all your aunts say, even though you wish you could go with your cousins.

The basics come first: Summoning a will-o-the-wisp to contact your parents, imbuing it with a message, things you are surprised others don't already know.

Then come the base elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Emotion, Will.

Your teachers are always shocked by how good you are with will.

You are always shocked by how hard emotion is for you.

Earth is the element of stable ground and anything large and encompassing.

Gram has always been there and can mediate an argument on the power of what would happen if she heard it.

Air is the element of adaptability and flow.

Aunt Josephine takes care of Gram, cooks her food and cleans her house, admits guests when Gram can see them, refuses them when Gram is ill.

Fire is the element of sudden choice and transformation.

You never met Eppy, but you know he's been in jail and you hear Gram and Aunt Josephine talking about how he's got a new girlfriend with small children and did that woman never ask what he was in jail FOR?  Did he really think bringing children and a new woman would allow him entrance to Gram's home?

Water is the element of necessity, capricious and vital.

You love your mother, and you're pretty sure you know she loves you, too.

Emotion is the element of vulnerability and knowing others.

Aunt Josephine and Gram reassures you that few people are good with it, but it's difficult to hold that knowledge when you see your classmates excel.

Will is the element of introspection and self-understanding.

People are something of a puzzle to you, one you like to pick apart so that you can find the common elements in yourself.

Derivative elements are fun, and you master those faster than your classmates, experimenting at home and watching family until your parents and teachers alike wonder why your grades aren't better.

School bores you, and so does the work.  You only do enough to pass, because you already understand it, so why explain your understanding?


	149. Comeback Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of my life to date and something of a rededication to Hestia and Hermes

Alright, so I've been neglecting this.

Badly.

I'm sorry for that, you deserve better, I deserve better, everyone deserves better.

I've had some life stuff that's been getting in the way, and some me that's been getting in the way, and the life stuff is still there, but the me stuff has finally irritated me enough that I've decided to not let it stand in my way.

I quit my job in early May, because my landlord suddenly moved the entire household to a place that was infested with cockroaches and giving me panic attacks.  It was also significantly farther from my job than the last place had been, and plus, I just didn't like the work anymore.

So I quit and moved out of that place, going to live with my aunt and uncle, who very generously took me into their home, and have been taking care of me.  I dicked around for a while, but the more I dicked around, the more anxious I got about my life and living situation.

I've put the pedal to the metal on looking for jobs the last week or so, and it's produced some results that I'm hopeful about, but nothing major.

Even so, that work is not what I want to be doing with my life.

This is what I want to be doing with my life.

Writing and sharing my experiences and communicating with people in what I feel is a meaningful way.

And I can't do that when I don't communicate at all.

So I need to get back into the habit of writing, back into getting my thoughts out of my head and onto my computer screen in some sort of meaningful way.

And maybe my stories, the fictional ones, won't be told the way that writers I admire would tell them.

But that doesn't mean the way I tell them isn't good enough.

Now, I said that i'd do 365 chapters, and I've done something like 143, when this calculation thing I'm using insists I should have 209.

So there's going to be just post after post after post after post, multiple posts a day, until I'm caught up.

So if you're subscribed to this, sorry in advance for the spam, but I've got a goal to reach, y'know?

Seeya on the flipside.


	150. Dominant and Submissive Ideals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically what the title says: a little introspection on dominance and submission

I was going to talk about roleplaying, but instead, dominance and submission are on my mind.

I feel like I must have a really crazy idea of what it should be, because nobody else seems to share it.

In my mind, dominance isn't just the ability and willingness to tell someone else what to do, though that's important.

It's the ability to take control of the situation, any situation, and shape it so that it works for you.

And similarly, submission isn't just the ability and willingness to do what you are told.

It's the ability to accept that any situation you interact with, with your dom, is going to be shifted to work in their favor, even if what they want, in that particular instance, is to bring you pleasure.

Maybe I'm making D/s stand in for some other idea in my mind.  Some other interactional ideal?

Because I swear it sounds like I'm talking about dealing with higher powers.

Maybe I'm expecting more of dominance than can be reasonably expected?

I dunno.


	151. Uncorked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspective. I swear I'm not just randomly posting shit, I'm actually having thoughts.

I feel like I'm on the edge of understanding something, the teetering precipice of awesome and incredible, and if I just wait long enough, I'll eventually fall one direction or another, even though I really know that I have to push myself one direction or the other in order to make something happen, but I have no idea WHAT it is.

Maybe I'm waiting for fame?

For acknowledgement?

For something to change as a result of coming back to this?

I'm not going to get any of those, and I know it.

I should really write a poem or a story, I was planning on writing one of those in response to something I was saying to a friend.

I just feel like I'm corked up, and I'm just waiting for someone to uncork me.

But noone's going to uncork me for me.

I have to uncork myself.

I have to work myself, find myself.

I have to do the work to make the me that I am shine through.

But shine through at what?

I know I'm good at a lot of things and with a lot of things, but...well...I guess I'm trying to make money at those things.

And I guess I never will make money at those things.

Keep doing what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten.

And my anxiety about it hasn't pissed me off enough that I'm willing to push past it, yet.

I would like more praise.

More commentary.

More kudos.

Could you, when you read this, actually say something to me?

I'm trying to connect, and I feel like I'm not making any kind of connections with people.

I feel like I'm trying and trying and just...nothing's happening.

Maybe I'm going about it the wrong way.

But I only know so many ways.

I should learn different ways, I guess?

Or else socialize with different people.


	152. Like Osumare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me talk to you about how difficult finding appropriate deities for this was. -.- This is fiction, by the way, Mama Dhanna and Teann are mine, the unnamed narrator is also mine. If you know things about the deities I used that makes them inappropriate for their roles in this tale, I would appreciate knowing, but I also think Yoruban deities deserve the chance to be misrepresented by folks who don't entirely understand their tales, just like the Greco-Roman ones!

Teann and I were young together, we ran together, and as we aged, we danced together.

There are the dances children do, to honor Osumare for his protection, and to appeal to the Ibeji, who are like themselves, and the dances adults do, to request Babaluaye protect those children from illness, and to plead with Erinle to keep them in good stead.

And then there are the dances to see one from childhood into adulthood.  Dances done as a group until one finds a partner to do them with.

Teann and I, separately learning the dances of Osun and Sango, taught each other moves we should not know, if our parents were to be believed.

We practiced together in Mama Dhanna's home, and when we asked why she let us, she only smiled and said that Esu kept his own.

Teann and I were thirteen together, practicing the dance with others our age, separately, as we were supposed to, in preparation for dancing with everyone for the first time, when a murmur went through the adults.

Looking up, we saw Esu himself, standing at Mama Dhanna's side, setting down a chair for her and helping her sit.

We waited for Mama Dhanna to settle herself, holding Esu for support as she sat back with a heartfelt groan, then she sent him to get her something to drink, like he was one of her sons.  He went.

Gradually, we all returned to what we had been doing, but soon, Esu had drawn over all of us over twelve, because Mama Dhanna wanted to see us dance.

And the others kept getting it wrong.

Mama Dhanna kept sending Esu to stop one person or another, and I could do better than that, so could Teann.

Esu kept saying to do it like Osumare.

Finally, one pair did so badly that I dragged Teann over, scolding them myself, "Nononono, you do it like THIS!"

I stomped at Teann the way Sango's dance demanded, and Teann reflexively responded with Osun's coquettry, letting the moves melt into Sango's aggression, and I responded with Osun's sensuality.

This was not the way it was supposed to be done.  One either did Sango's moves, or Osun's, depending on gender, but Teann and I had practiced together, teaching each other moves we should not know, should not do, and we moved between dance styles with instinctive understanding, and with knowledge that the other would catch what we were doing, like a scant few dancers we had seen.

As we danced, I suddenly understood why one waited until one was ready to take a partner to do these dances, but I think Teann and I had always known we were the only ones suited to one another.

The world melted away as we danced together, selfconsciousness, the roles we had not known to tell our parents did not suit us, all of it gone, only the pounding of our feet and the sway of our bodies, the growing sound of drumming, and the pant of our breath.

When we finally collapsed against each other, worn out by our efforts, we found ourselves at the center of an awed circle, Esu sitting at Mama Dhanna's side on the ground, with the evening's drum between his legs.

"Like Osumare," he grinned his approval, and we realized the prank that had been played on us.

Osumare was sometimes male, sometimes female, and Esu was of the crossroads.

Esu had come to force us into renouncing our roles and revealing ourselves through dance.

I saw Teann understood as well as I did, and I kissed Teann until neither of us had breath to do it anymore.

When evening came, we would dance together for Esu, and then again, in private, for ourselves.


	153. Job Searches and Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post, tw for anxiety-rant

I'm having anxiety over a job interview for a job I actually really kind of want, and they say the decision will be made Friday, but if I wait until Friday to make bus reservations, I won't be able to make the bus reservations, but if I make the bus reservations and don't get the job, I'll have to cancel the bus reservations, and really, I am just anxious about inadequacy and what if they don't choose me?

What will that say to the people making the reservations?  Will they even care?  Probably not.

Will their be penalties on my account if I make reservations and cancel them?

What if they decide to hire me Friday and don't want me to come in next week, but the week after?

What if it's a group of white women and I'm not suited?

What if?

I hate anxiety, it always throws these what ifs at me that don't even apply, mostly.

I hate feeling lonely and useless, though.


	154. Because they care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety-rant ahead

So, I've figured out that a large part of my anxiety is due to the fact that I'm waiting for my aunt and uncle to kick me out, even though my aunt says they won't, and I'm helpful and useful, and I'm trying everything I know to find work.  Even so, I keep waiting for them to remember they don't actually want me here, and should be kicking me out now.

I wonder what it feels like to not worry about these sorts of things.

I'm not sure how to get rid of this anxiety, I just feel like I should try and do everything I can to hurry up and not be a burden on them anymore, but at the same time, I'm afraid that if I call their attention to me, they will suddenly remember how much they want to kick me out, like they're going to FORGET about me, just because I'm in a different room with the door closed.

Maybe I should try calling more attention to myself?

I keep speculating about that.

Maybe I should just accept that they're taking care of me because they are willing to put up with the trouble and expense of me.

That is actually harder to deal with, as a thought.

Because it means I'm valuable.

Valued.

For who I am.

What I do helps, but it's nowhere near enough to compensate for the fact that they are just...willing to do this.

Why?

Well, if it were me, it would be because someone needed my help, and I had the means to help them.

Because I wanted to help them.

Because I cared about them and their lives.

Because I knew they weren't abusing my efforts or me.


	155. Panic Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what it sounds like: anxiety-rant as I panic attacked.

I am quietly losing my mind over absofucking nothing, and I don't know how to stop myself losing my fucking mind.

Someone called this morning from Sallie Mae, and all of my loans are in deferment or forebearance right now, for at least two more months, but I've got someone from Sallie Mae calling, and I did my reflexive thing of "You have the wrong number," except it's from Sallie Mae, and I can't help wondering what the fuck they are calling about, because my loans are in deferment or forbearance and I CAN'T FUCKING PAY THEM RIGHT NOW.

And I don't have to.

I need to do the breathing technique Anna told me about.

Breathe.

Ok, that's better.

I need to get a fucking job, because this whole starving because Gale and Jim are broke thing is Not Working for me.


	156. And this thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me working out some thoughts, blog-style post, keep moving, nothing to see here.

Ok, so I've come to a conclusion.

My aunt and uncle are going to kick me out of their house at some point in time.

They're taking care of me while I look for a job, but at some point, too much will become enough, and they will be happy to see me on my way.

I know this, because it's just a fact.

What has been giving me palpitations is the fact that I don't know when this will be, or how much will be too much.

I have no idea of when I will become more than they want to support.

And that terrifies me.

I want to work so that I can contribute something meaningful to their household.

And I can't seem to find work.

Anywhere.

I'm looking, I swear.

It's just....not working.

I don't know why.

But I want to be able to have a place to go TO when they finally get sick of me.

And I don't really have that right now.

And that's why I'm scared.

My aunt and uncle ARE my backup plan.

And I don't have a backup plan for the backup plan.


	157. Fuck everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicide mention

I feel so lonely right now.

I should probably write something.

A story, maybe.

I'm a great writer, I am.

But I am never going to be the writer I hope to be.

And secluding myself in my room won't help.

And it doesn't make the anxiety go away.

And I need to eat something and get some water, I'm getting melancholy and possibly also suicidal, and that's never a good thing.


	158. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea

I just watched a really lovely video about secrets, and it made me think about my own secrets.  I like to say I don't have many, but really, I'm just good at keeping people from finding out the secrets I don't want to share.

Like the fact that I wish I hadn't had a cat when I was visiting my friend in Massachusetts.  I may have stayed longer.

Or the fact that I feel comforted when people make me take care of myself.

Or the fact that even though I don't want to fuck a guy, I still want guys to find me beautiful

I don't have very many secrets from myself, so a lot of stuff, I already know about myself, but I really would give a lot to feel the way I want to feel about me.


	159. Shifting Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change in goals and plans. It might actually make writing fiction and poetry easier. I know it's been a lot of blog-style posts, sorry...

I just read an article about the trials of publishing, and even though I COULD do all of that, I'm realizing that writing, at least writing fiction, is not worth it for me.  I do want to write, and I enjoy it a lot, but writing fiction is not worth the effort of publishing, dealing with publicizing and rights and all of that shit.  Especially when I don't have a product I want to throw myself into like that.

I do want to tell stories, but I want to tell the real stories of actual people.

I want to teach people.

I want to be listened to and learned from.

And I'd like to be appreciate for it, both verbally, and monetarily.

I'm going to look into how to become an advice columnist.  That's what I really want to do with my life.  It's like being an inspirational speak, but I don't have to physically deal with people for the vast majority of the work, it's great!


	160. Preferences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blog-style post about touching folks and being touched

So, apparently, caffeine is just not something I can do anymore.

I am currently in panic attack city, population me, over caffeine I had roughly four hours ago.

I have no mouth, but I must scream.

I feel that way a lot, because I don't verbally communicate with people a lot, and because a lot of thoughts and ideas I feel are important just don't get communicated by digital media.

It's not even that I forget those thoughts and ideas, though that does happen sometimes, it's just...usually not as organic.

It takes more effort to convey those thoughts by typing, and I frequently give up the effort as useless.

I mean, sometimes everything comes smooth and all is well.

But sometimes, while having a verbal conversation, I just say things that I wouldn't say online.  It's not that it's not that online can't be as spontaneous, just that it usually ISN'T, is all.


	161. Grocery Stores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another nervous rant about job hunting

As usual, I am having a panic attack about work and jobs, and my ability to deal with or find either.  I don't want to be gainfully employed, I don't think anyone does, but I need a place to stay and money for food and I just don't fucking know how to apply for the jobs I want.  Or how to get them, rather.  I applied, but it never seems like anyone is hiring, which I suppose is a function of this economy, but fucking hell.  Meijer has openings across the store.  I have four years of customer service experience.  I should be a fucking shoe-in.

I'm just freaking out, as I always do, but have I mentioned that fuck, this sucks?


End file.
